


a dangerous thing

by sharkfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (NOT BETWEEN DEAN/CAS), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Camboy Dean, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, NO MPREG :), Omega Dean, Oral Sex, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rimming, Sex Worker Dean, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 46,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: Dean spends all his time being desired by others -- makes his living that way -- but being lusted after isn’t the same thing as being wanted, and he’s never felt wanted. Which is why he ends up answering an email that starts with “Dear sir, I hope this letter doesn’t offend you…” and ends with “You will be compensated generously for your time. Sincerely, Castiel Novak.”The email says Castiel is looking for “the boyfriend experience,” as they call it in Dean’s profession. He wants a live-in, someone to hold him at night, someone to make him dinner and greet him after a long day of work with a smile, someone to play pretend with.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean is really fucking lonely. 

He spends all his time being desired by others -- makes his living that way -- but being lusted after isn’t the same thing as being _wanted_ , and he’s never felt wanted. Which is why he ends up answering an email that starts with “Dear sir, I hope this letter doesn’t offend you…” and ends with “You will be compensated generously for your time. Sincerely, Castiel Novak.” 

The email says Castiel is looking for “the boyfriend experience,” as they call it in Dean’s profession. He wants a live-in, someone to hold him at night, someone to make him dinner and greet him after a long day of work with a smile, someone to play pretend with. 

And Dean, he wants to feel wanted, so he sends off a hasty reply (before he can change his mind) saying he’ll consider it, emphasis on consider, after a meeting with this Castiel Novak. Castiel’s reply is almost immediate and they quickly hash out details to meet at a local diner, during a slow period so they will have more privacy. 

When the time comes, Dean considers what to wear. He’s never in anything more than a pair of tight, ripped jeans in his shows, and then only briefly, so he has no idea what Castiel expects. In the end, Dean just dresses like himself, though he chooses his nicest jeans to go with an old Steely Dan t-shirt and one of his favorite flannel shirts. He’s out of blockers so he applies a little too much cologne trying to mask his scent. 

He arrives early on purpose, choosing a table in the very back of the nearly-empty restaurant, and pops off a text message to Castiel: _I’m in the back._ Dean has no idea what to expect, though he assumes Castiel is some kind of old fart, ugly with years of screwing people out of their money. How else do people become rich anyway? 

Every time the door jingles, Dean looks up, hoping to spot Castiel before he’s spotted himself, to give him a moment to school his face into something other than disgust. Mostly it’s just the wait staff going in and out for cigarette breaks, but then there’s a man in an oversized tan coat and he’s fucking gorgeous and all alpha scent that has Dean shifting in his seat. If he weren’t waiting for the guy who wants to make Dean his concubine, he might consider talking to Mr. Tan Coat, might try to get his number, but Dean keeps in mind Sam’s tuition and doesn’t move. 

The man’s eyes sweep the restaurant and come to rest on Dean. With a blank face and purposeful strides, the man approaches Dean’s booth in the back of the diner, and Dean realizes that this is Castiel, this beautiful specimen of a man, someone who has probably spent his whole life being wanted. 

Dean nearly trips getting out of the booth, bangs his hip on the edge of the table and curses under his breath (great start to this date, asshole, he thinks to himself) and holds out his hand when Castiel does to shake. 

“Hello. I’m Castiel,” he says, stiff and formal, his face still blank, even as his eyes sweep down Dean’s body and back up to meet his eyes. Castiel’s eyes are blue and intense; Dean feels shorter underneath them. 

“Dean,” he breathes out. Then breathes in. Castiel is wearing blockers, most of his scent covered by the chemical smell, but Dean gets a whiff of spring, the smell of flowers blooming and hope for something better. 

“Please, sit,” Castiel says, and they slide into the booth in tandem. 

Dean can’t help staring. This is not what he expected, and it probably shows on his face, but Castiel is polite enough not to mention it. But that tousled hair and well-fitted suit -- what does Castiel need a whore for? 

Without preamble, Castiel digs around in his briefcase (who carries a briefcase? Dean wonders) and pulls out a small stack of paper, a place for initials next to every paragraph. This is a contract. 

“I have compiled this agreement,” Castiel says, “so both of us are clear on what our relationship would entail.” 

“Um,” Dean says. 

“Please take your time reading over it,” Castiel says, “and initial next to the sections you agree to. This is negotiable. I would not want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” 

Dean kind of laughs, because what about this situation is comfortable, and just as he starts skimming, the waitress appears. They both order coffee -- Dean drinks black, Castiel asks for cream -- and Dean goes back to the contract. Agreement. He’ll have to ask Sam (surreptitiously, so Sam doesn’t know what he’s actually up to) if this contract is binding, if someone can even bind another person into a relationship. 

The agreement starts by saying it is dissolvable at any time by either party for any reason, and Dean initials next to it with a pen Castiel hands him from out of the briefcase. It says that Dean is expected to be available to Castiel 4 nights a week and Sundays, which are the only day Castiel reliably takes off, and that Dean can choose which two evenings he has to himself. It says that Castiel will cover all of Dean’s living expenses, that he will have his own room in Castiel’s home but is not required to stay there on his off days, that Dean’s time is his own during the workday. It says that sometimes Castiel doesn’t come home until after ten but still expects a home-cooked meal five nights a week. It says that Castiel has a maid so Dean won’t be expected to handle any of those types of duties. It says that Dean has to sleep in Castiel’s bed. It says that Dean is not expected to give up his regular cam work as long as it doesn’t interfere with his time with Castiel. It says that there are work events Dean will be expected to attend as Castiel’s date, that their agreement will remain a secret, that Dean is expected to play along even in front of other people. It says a lot of things, and Dean initials all of them with no surprise -- most of this was covered in their email exchanges -- but stops at the last one. It says no sex. It says Castiel knows Dean is not a prostitute and will not allow their relationship to become more physical than touching at night (cuddling, Dean knows is what Castiel means) and the occasional small acts of PDA required to convince other people of their relationship. 

Dean stares at it for a long time, his coffee growing cold. 

“Yes?” Castiel says at last. “Which clause is causing you to hesitate?” 

“I, uh, I just didn’t expect… I figured you’d want to fuck me.” 

Castiel tilts his head. It makes Dean think of winged things, the little sparrows and starlings fluttering around outside the diner. “Despite your profession,” Castiel says, “I’m aware you are not a whore.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, and initials next to it. There’s not a single thing he won’t do; it’s made easier by the idea that he won’t have to take his clothes off, won’t have to let an alpha take him for the first time in his life. 

“Now the only thing left to negotiate is payment,” Castiel says. “How much do you make monthly doing your shows?” 

Dean calculates quickly, and names a number that is only a little bit of an exaggeration. 

“I can offer double that.” 

Dean pauses. Combined with the money from the shows he can still do, it’s more than he could’ve imagined having in his hands at one time. It’ll cover Sam’s tuition, the leftover parts that aren’t covered by all those scholarships Sam won and Sam’s paid internship. It’s enough that Dean can start socking some away, create the savings account he’s never had. 

“I… yeah,” Dean says vaguely, aware in the back of his mind that he should negotiate for something higher, that that’s how these kind of things work, but his brain is stuck on the number and he can’t imagine asking for more. “Yeah, that’ll work.” 

“I also request that you begin taking suppressants. I will, of course, cover the--” 

“I’m on them,” Dean says. 

Castiel squints. 

“Oh,” Dean says, “I fake it for the shows.” He turns the heat up too high in his apartment to create the flushed and sweat-slicked skin, puts on an extra big show of needing to be knotted, uses his toys over and over again until he’s too exhausted to move. These kinds of shows are where he makes the most money. 

Castiel nods. Other than the head tilts, the single nod, his face is still expressionless. Dean wonders if there’s something wrong with him. 

“When can you start?” 

“Whenever,” Dean says. 

“Sunday, then. I can assist in moving any of your things into my home.” 

“Ah, no, you don’t have to do that. I don’t have much.” It’s not like he plans on getting rid of his dumpy little one-bedroom anyway, just in case. 

Castiel nods. 

“But I can do that Sunday. Sure,” Dean says. He feels like he’s in a dream. What has he agreed to?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can I--” Castiel starts, but seems to lose the words. “Ah, may I touch you?”_
> 
> _Moment of truth. “Yeah,” Dean says._
> 
> _Awkwardly, Castiel scoots to Dean’s side of the bed. It takes him a moment to decide what to do with his body, and then he’s tucked up against Dean’s side, chin on Dean’s shoulder and face in the crook of his neck. Hesitantly his hand slides across Dean’s stomach until his arm settles around Dean’s middle. Dean is holding his breath, but maybe Castiel is, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know short chapters are frustrating but it's just how it's worked out in this story for me. :)

Dean can’t face the camera to do any shows before Sunday comes around. He doesn't pack, either, mostly just wallows in beer and Dr. Sexy reruns. At least he refrains from picking up a fifth of Jack Daniels -- Sam would kill him -- so he’s not even drunk, no hangover, no misery except what’s already inside his head. 

Morning comes and he sloppily packs a couple boxes, mostly just clothes and his camming equipment and a handful of his favorite books. He’s not familiar with the rich part of town where Castiel lives, so he has to use the GPS on his phone to get there, despite his penchant for memorizing places and routes. Baby’s tires are sure and true on the hills and curves leading into the HIll Country, and he listens to his tapes too loud and sings along too loud and tries not to think about this agreement he’s made with a handsome executive who might be just as lonely as he is. 

Dean expected a big house, a nice house, but this neighborhood is full of monstrosities of over-indulgence, and Castiel’s home is no different. There’s a circle drive and Dean can spot a pool in the back yard, overlooking the valley below. 

He rings the doorbell nervously and Castiel answers like he was waiting around. There’s no suit, just a soft long-sleeved t-shirt and dark jeans and bare feet on the tile floors. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Hello, Castiel,” Dean says, a mockery of Castiel’s grave tone, and something twitches in Castiel’s face. 

“Let me take you on a tour,” Castiel says, “and then we can move your things in.” 

“There’s not much,” Dean says. 

Castiel nods and turns away, leading Dean deeper into the house. 

It’s massive and there’s natural light everywhere and the floors are a mix of tile and hardwood and the couches look barely used. Dean’s room is just down the hall from Castiel’s master bedroom; the kitchen is almost as big as Dean’s entire apartment. He feels a moment of excitement, knowing he’ll be cooking there, with all the stainless steel and fancy appliances. Outside, there’s a pool and a hot tub, and Dean immediately starts thinking about the kind of shows he can put on out there. 

Castiel says the rest of the day is his own, to get settled in and acquainted with the property. He says he’ll be in his office if Dean needs anything. The only thing he asks is for Dean to put together a grocery list for the rest of the week and Castiel will set up a delivery for the following day. Dean does that first: sits down and considers what kind of food he would buy if he could afford anything, what kind of recipes he could whip up with steak or expensive fish and a nice wine to go with. Castiel has hardly any food, not really any spices or herbs or anything, so Dean’s list is long. 

In his office, Castiel is bent over a stack of paper with a red pen and the other hand in his hair. Dean hesitates before knocking gently on the door jam. Castiel whips around like he’s surprised to find anyone in his home and Dean flushes. “I finished the list.” 

“Thank you,” Castiel says. He stands up to take the list from Dean, squinting down at it. “Your handwriting is atrocious.” 

“I can, you know, type it up and send it to you instead.” 

“No, this is fine.” Castiel’s eyes keep roving down the paper, pausing every now and then to ask Dean what one thing or another says. “Great,” Castiel says, “I can have this delivered at noon tomorrow, if that’s amenable to you?” 

 

“Cool,” Dean says. 

Dean spends the rest of the day in his room, mucking about on the internet and ignoring all the private show requests he receives. He certainly is not going to be fucking himself with Castiel just down the hall, so his customers will have to wait another day. He’s worth it. 

Around eleven, Castiel knocks on the door and says, “I’m going to bed. Will you join me?” 

Dean swallows. This is what he’s agreed to, what he’s there for, so all he can say is “of course” and change into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt before finding Castiel in the master bedroom. Castiel gestures towards the bed but doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes. Dean turns away politely while Castiel changes, then they get into the bed together, both of them on their backs and staring at the ceiling. 

“Can I--” Castiel starts, but seems to lose the words. “Ah, may I touch you?” 

Moment of truth. “Yeah,” Dean says. 

Awkwardly, Castiel scoots to Dean’s side of the bed. It takes him a moment to decide what to do with his body, and then he’s tucked up against Dean’s side, chin on Dean’s shoulder and face in the crook of his neck. Hesitantly his hand slides across Dean’s stomach until his arm settles around Dean’s middle. Dean is holding his breath, but maybe Castiel is, too. 

Dean barely sleeps, only dozes for an hour or so in the middle of the night, but otherwise just blinks in the darkness and tries not to think about the stranger wrapped around him. At some point he rolls to his side and Castiel, without waking, presses close again so his body curves along with Dean’s like two puzzle pieces snapping together. His hand presses against Dean’s midsection almost possessively. 

Castiel’s alarm goes off before sunrise. Dean rubs at his eyes, scratchy with lack of sleep, and Castiel groans behind him. The alarm goes silent, only to pick up the ear-splitting chimes five minutes later. Castiel groans; the alarm goes off after another five minutes; repeat. 

“Dude,” Dean says. “That is so fucking annoying.” Castiel pulls the covers over his face, gives another one of those groans, and punches snooze on his phone for the upteenth time. 

The next time the alarm goes off, Dean leans over Castiel’s blanketed body to turn it off -- actually off, not snoozing -- and Castiel pulls the blanket off his face (eyes still closed) and says, “Why did you do that?” 

“Because if I had to hear that one more time, I was going to go into a rage blackout.” 

“I’m not ready to wake up yet.” 

Castiel’s voice is extra-deep first thing in the morning, and something about the pure alpha of it stirs in Dean’s gut. Before he can think about that too much, he swings his legs out of bed. “Well, whatever, man. You stay not-woken-up. I’ll start some coffee.” 

Castiel has one of those fancy single-cup coffee makers with the little expensive pods, but Dean poked around enough in the kitchen to find an older standard model machine to go with the rich Colombian roast in the cabinet. The smell of coffee fills the house and Dean sighs happily at the first sip. 

Sometime halfway through Dean’s first cup of coffee, Castiel appears, disheveled with his hair standing on end and looking far more exhausted than anyone so handsome should. He accepts a mug of coffee and the carton of half-n-half from Dean with something that Dean thinks might be a smile. They don’t speak, but they are both too tired for it to be awkward. 

“Shower,” Castiel says after his first cup and a half, and for an alarming moment Dean thinks it’s an invitation, but Castiel just wanders off towards the bedroom alone. Half an hour later he appears in a suit and tie, hair combed and tamed, and wow, does he clean up nice. His tie matches his eyes, cerulean blue, like Texas skies on a perfect spring day. 

“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, back to his oddly formal way of speaking. “I will text you and let you know what time I expect dinner.” 

“Sure,” Dean says. He does not stare at Castiel’s ass as he heads towards the front door. 

As soon as he’s sure Castiel is gone, Dean starts looking around. Not snooping -- he doesn’t go near Castiel’s office and doesn’t open up any drawers in his bedroom -- but he does familiarize himself with the house more fully without feeling like there are eyes on him. 

He still has a few hours left before he expects groceries, and he kind of wants to sleep, but instead he goes into his bedroom and sets up his cam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe a month in, one of the things Dean has been dreading happens: he wakes up just before his alarm goes off to find Castiel pressed up against his back, hard cock insistent as he rolls his hips against Dean’s ass. Dean doesn’t move, breath stopped, trying to figure out how to respond. He can’t --_ can’t _\-- give up the money, but their agreement was no sex._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented/bookmarked/enjoyed this fic so far. This one is close to my heart so it means so much to me that people are liking it! 
> 
> I've written up through chapter 7 so I'll be posting daily as I proofread until I run out of content. This will probably end up ~15-20k, so there's still a bit to go. :)

It’s not until later in the afternoon that he receives a text message from Castiel: _Dinner is expected at 9pm._

Dean spends another few hours flirting and jerking off in front of a camera to faceless men with so many demands, and then he cleans his toys and takes a shower and gets started on dinner, shirtless and barefoot in the kitchen. The irony does not escape him. 

He puts together a pretty little something with herb-crusted salmon and red potatoes, some asparagus on the side, and feels pretty pleased with himself when it’s done just before nine and fucking delicious. 

Castiel arrives at 8:58. He looks tired, exhausted, his hair a wreck and his tie crooked. Dean says, “Hey,” and smiles. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. He looks at the food spread out on the bar in the kitchen -- the dining room table is so big, Dean felt awkward setting up food for two there -- and then at Dean. His face says nothing. 

“Hey,” Dean says again. “I made salmon and--” 

“I can see.” 

“Uh, right,” Dean says. “Should I… serve you?” 

Castiel takes the plate out of Dean’s hands, scowling, and Dean assumes that’s a no. Castiel serves himself a generous portion of everything, and Dean does the same on his own plate, and they both take a seat at the bar, a chair between them and not facing each other. 

“You should wear clothes while I’m here,” Castiel says, still not looking at Dean. 

Dean looks down at himself, the barely-pudge of his belly, and swallows. “I meant to put a shirt on before you got here--” 

“Next time, don’t ‘mean to.’ Do it.” 

“I -- all right.” Dean gets up and goes to his bedroom to retrieve an old band tee. When he returns, Castiel is already rinsing his plate and silverware. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Castiel says, though he doesn’t sound like he feels anything at all. “It was surprisingly good.” 

“You mean, you had no faith in my cooking skills?” Dean tries for teasing, but it falls flat. 

“Faith isn’t real. Evidence is,” Castiel says. 

As Castiel stalks out of the kitchen, Dean wonders, not for the first time, what he’s gotten himself into. 

Dean finishes his meal alone, packs up the leftovers in tupperware for his lunch the next day, and does the dishes. It’s all so meditatively domestic: the thoughtless movement of a scrub brush on a plate, the circular movement of a sponge on the counter. This part Dean could grow to like. 

 

The second night with Castiel is the same as the first: Castiel wraps himself around Dean like a many-armed octopus and begins snoring lightly immediately while Dean lies awake, counting breaths to keep himself calm. This is not what he wanted out of life, but then again, neither is getting naked on the internet, showing off his omega cock and slicked up hole. He’s never been prudish, but there used to be something intimate about showing someone his body. Now it’s just dollar signs. 

Castiel’s alarm goes off before dawn, maybe even earlier than the day before, and again, he snoozes a few times until Dean reaches over and turns the alarm off. The silence is a relief after all those headache-inducing chimes. Castiel doesn’t open his eyes but says, “I’m going running.” 

“I see that,” Dean says, “you’re doing a great job.” 

One of Castiel’s eyes opens and he glares at Dean. “If you had let me snooze one more time--”

“Dude,” Dean says, “is this going to be a thing every morning? Because that alarm is too much.” 

“You can wake me then,” Castiel says. With a grunt, he rolls himself out of bed. 

For the first time, Dean notices tattoos trailing down the backside of both of Castiel’s arms, just peeking below the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. One looks like feathers and the other like fire and ash, but Dean can’t quite tell. “I didn’t know you had tattoos,” he says. 

Castiel spins around, suddenly awake, so the tattoos are out of sight again. “Don’t ask me about them.” 

“Oh,” Dean says, “ok.” 

“I’ve seen yours,” Castiel says. “It’s ugly.” 

Dean stutters a little bit. “Thanks, man,” he says at last. He thinks of bringing up the meaning -- how important the ‘ugly’ symbol is to him, to Sammy -- but he gets the feeling that Castiel wouldn’t care. 

The days start to blend together quickly. Dean fucks himself on camera all morning and sometimes into the afternoon, and then he wastes time on the internet until he has to make Castiel dinner, and then they sit in awkward silence while they eat, and then they sleep together. At least Dean learns to relax enough to get some sleep, even with the furnace named Castiel wrapped all around him. 

Sometimes Castiel is cordial, but mostly he’s just short and a little rude. Dean figures sleeping -- just sleeping -- with a rich asshole for money is worth the ‘asshole’ part. 

And then, maybe a month in, one of the things Dean has been dreading happens: he wakes up just before his alarm goes off to find Castiel pressed up against his back, hard cock insistent as he rolls his hips against Dean’s ass. Dean doesn’t move, breath stopped, trying to figure out how to respond. He can’t -- can’t -- give up the money, but their agreement was no sex. 

The alarm goes off. Castiel groans, and it’s just his regular grumpy morning groan, not a moan of pleasure. He rolls away from Dean to pull the covers over his head. It was a late night the night before, dinner not until after eleven, and Castiel is particularly whiny after late nights. Dean is getting to know him. 

“You, uh, gotta run today,” Dean says. “Come on, man, wake up.” 

Dean can see Castiel’s hand travel down his body under the blankets, stopping to scratch at his belly, and then he says, “Oh,” a little surprised and exasperated. The blankets come off his face, and his eyes are bright like gems. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says, “this isn’t supposed to happen.” 

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, ok.” 

“I’m on Alpha-Ex,” Castiel says. 

Dean blinks. Blinks again. “I -- why would you -- who does that, man?” 

“Alphas who don’t have time to be distracted.” 

Alpha-Ex kills sexual desire, stops erections and wet dreams, leaves an alpha just a shell of their true self. “But the side effects --”

“I’ve never experienced any.” Castiel gets out of bed. “I apologize again,” he says. He looks down at the offending hard-on with the squint he uses when he disapproves of a meal Dean has cooked. Disapproval is the only emotion Dean ever really sees on Castiel’s face. 

Castiel heads to the bathroom with his running clothes in his hands. “Eggs scrambled today.” 

 

And so it goes. Once Dean gets used to sleeping in bed with another person -- he never was a fan of the morning walk of shame and so avoided sleepovers, even with the betas he let fuck him -- he spends a lot of time wondering why Castiel would pay someone so much just to despise them. Castiel is happier more often than not with the meals, and he must enjoy the -- fuck, yes, it’s cuddling -- at night, but Dean doesn’t do much else other than use the house as an elaborate set for his cam shows, and Castiel doesn’t seem to enjoy his company much. 

One night, Castiel comes home and looks especially angry at the world. “Hey,” Dean says, with a smile, just like he’s supposed to. “Have a tough day?” 

Castiel looks at him with the briefest hint of surprise. “Yes, actually,” he says. 

“I just made burgers tonight,” Dean says, “you liked them last time, but I added a little extra--” 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

Dean plays with his fries a little while Castiel starts eating. “Want to talk about it? Whatever happened today?” 

“No,” Castiel says. Takes another couple of bites. Then says, “Abaddon. Our chief marketing officer. She’s making some changes I don’t approve of.” 

“Like what?” Dean has no idea what Castiel actually does for his job, couldn’t find anything solid about the company’s business online, but he’s bored to death of reading the same shit on the internet every day. 

“It’s nothing you would understand.” 

Dean flinches. “Just because I’m your -- just because I -- I’m not stupid.” 

Castiel turns to Dean. “Of course not,” he says. “I wouldn’t ask you to be here if you were.” 

Dean tries not to preen under what is almost praise -- at least the closest Castiel has ever gotten to praising him -- and says, “I might not know much about your job, but I can still listen.” 

Castiel nods gravely as if this had not occurred to him. “So,” he says, “Abaddon went over my head to start this initiative…” 

 

One Sunday, Castiel comes out of his office to find Dean on the couch in front of Netflix. “What are you watching?” 

“Oh,” Dean says, scrambling for the remote. “Just, uh, a little Dr. Sexy. It’s dumb.” 

“From the title, I wouldn’t expect much else. Don’t stop on my account.” 

Dean presses ‘play’ again, face still flushed. On screen, the lesbians are fighting again. What else is new. 

“I’m making a sandwich. Would you like one?” 

Dean tilts his head up to see Castiel, brows furrowed. “You never eat lunch.” 

“I’m hungry.” 

“I can make you --” 

“I’m capable, thank you. Would you like one?” 

“Yeah, sure. Do you… I have some beer in the fridge in my room. It’s just Shiner, but I can grab one for you.” 

Castiel considers for a moment, nods. Dean gets up to grab the beers and does not look at Castiel’s ass as he walks to the kitchen. 

This is the weirdest thing they’ve done together yet: sit on the couch, eating sandwiches, drinking beers, and watching Dr. Sexy. Castiel is quiet for the first fifteen minutes, and then starts sending questions rapid-fire -- why is the vet so angry at the hardcore one, how can Dr. Steamy get away with having sex with a direct report, how can any of them get away with their incestuous hospital relationships without bringing a lawyer down on them? Dean explains the best he can, trying not to let on that he’s watched the whole series enough times to recite the plot lines in his sleep. 

Castiel never smiles, but he sticks around for a second episode, and Dean thinks that might be sort of the same thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Midway through round four, there’s a loud knock on his door. Dean pauses, panicked breath in his throat. Has he been so loud the neighbors are complaining? Surely they’ve known an omega in heat before? Maybe it’s one of them come to relieve him of this -- it’s almost_ pain _, the wanting._
> 
> _When Dean opens the door, Castiel is on the other side, fist raised to knock again._

Rationally, Dean knows that suppressants fail all the time, especially when the omega is particularly close to an alpha -- but Castiel is on Alpha-Ex, and Dean has never had suppressants fail before, so it’s a bit of a shock when he spends a night alone tossing and turning, nightsweats leaving the sheets damp underneath him. 

It’s his day off, so he manages to avoid Castiel’s morning routine, waiting until Castiel is gone to text him: _I have to go home for a few days. I’ll let you know when I can come back._

Dean packs up his stuff and heads back to his crappy apartment, an itch under his skin. The classic rock band posters on his walls seem kind of pathetic compared to the legitimate artwork decorating Castiel’s home, artwork Dean has come to love in all its vibrant colors, even though abstract paintings have never been his forte. 

His hands are shaking. He barely manages to set up his cam, log on to the site, and up the price for his _***HEAT SHOW***_ before he’s stripping off his clothes without any grace and pulling out a fake knot. The ping of users logging on -- the ping-ping of comments in the live chat room -- start to go wild as Dean shoves the fake dick into himself over and over. He’s on his back, cock hard and curving upwards towards his belly button, head tossed back and moaning with abandon. It’s chilly in his apartment but he’s still sweating and red-faced; he doesn’t have to use fake slick to create the gush of heat arousal. 

It’s awful. It’s been so long since Dean has gone into heat that he had forgotten what it’s like: the desperation, the pure need, the whine in the back of his throat, begging for someone warm and real instead of silicon. 

After the first round, he has a moment to breathe and check his earnings. Holy shit. It’s more than he’s ever made in a ten minute show, and the watchers are already begging for more. 

By round three, his arm is tired and he’s begging to no one, not even caring about all the people watching him turn into a pathetic omega mess. In a rare moment of lucidity, shame hits him so hard it leaves him reeling, but it’s only moments before the need comes back again and he’s got a bigger toy out, trying to find satisfaction in filling his leaking hole. 

Midway through round four, there’s a loud knock on his door. Dean pauses, panicked breath in his throat. Has he been so loud the neighbors are complaining? Surely they’ve known an omega in heat before? Maybe it’s one of them come to relieve him of this -- it’s almost pain, the wanting. 

He tosses a _brb_ into the chat room and pulls on a pair of boxers lying on his floor. It’s the best he can do with trembling hands, couldn’t possibly work buttons and zippers. 

When Dean opens the door, Castiel is on the other side, fist raised to knock again. 

“Cas,” Dean says. His voice comes out wrecked. 

“Dean,” Castiel says. He’s holding a plastic bag with something that smells like chicken noodle soup inside, but all Dean is concerned about is the way Castiel smells, the lightning-fresh of him, the blue of his eyes and lines of his body underneath a button-down and blazer. “I was concerned--” His nostrils flare, and he takes a step back. “You’re in heat.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, alpha.” 

Dean grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the apartment. Castiel is shocked enough not to fight back -- Dean can see the surprise on his face, has grown to know Castiel enough to see his expressions -- and Dean leans forward to kiss him, lips already parted. 

But the alpha puts up a hand against Dean’s bare chest, holding him back. “Dean,” Castiel says, “I’m just going to leave this soup and I’ll see you in a few days.” His voice barely wavers. 

Dean takes the plastic bag from him, honest-to-god _whimpering_. “Need you,” Dean says. A fresh gush of slick is sliding down the inside of his thighs; he’s wetter every moment he can smell Castiel. 

Castiel holds both hands up now, keeping Dean at a distance, and backs out of the apartment. “I’ll see you in a few days,” he repeats, then pulls the door closed. 

The rejection hits Dean like a freight train. In any other circumstance, he could laugh off just about any rejection, but now -- in heat, and needing an alpha so bad -- it brings tears to his eyes. There’s not any time to think about it, though; before he even consciously knows what he’s doing, he’s back in bed with his biggest toy shoved all the way inside, the knot catching, moaning and imagining he’s tied to an alpha with ocean-blue eyes and a runner’s lean body. 

 

Dean makes an obscene amount of money during his heat. He doesn’t think anyone knows that his other heat shows have been faked, but the real thing drives the alphas watching even crazier, and Dean does whatever they want without asking for extra tips. He tries not to think about Castiel. 

Four days later, Dean comes out of the haze. He’s disgusting -- covered in slick and come and sweat -- so the first thing he does is stumble into the tiny shower in his tiny apartment. He’s angry at himself for growing used to the opulence of Castiel’s place.

Coming out of the hot shower, he’s dizzy enough to have to grab the sink counter to keep from falling, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten since the heat began. This is why omegas need alphas there during their heat: to take care of them, and not just sexually. Dean remembers that Castiel brought him food, but he wasn’t coherent enough to put it in the fridge, so the soup is just stinking on the counter. He’s barely visited his apartment in a month, so there’s nothing but a couple random ramen packages in the back of a cabinet, left over from the days he couldn’t afford real food. He kind of hates ramen ever since he spent months eating nothing else, saving every penny for Sam, but he gobbles it up all the same. 

Dean pulls on a set of fresh clothes from his duffle. Feeling much better than he has in days, he pulls out his phone and texts Castiel: _Heading back. What time do you want dinner?_

Castiel’s response comes in not much longer: _We’ll order in. See you soon._

See you soon. Dean’s not sure why, but something flutters in his belly. It seems like Castiel wants to say something more, that there’s something more hidden behind those three words, but Dean isn’t exactly sure what. 

 

Castiel’s house looks just like it always does, though Dean doesn’t know why he would expect much different. It’s just that he wants to feel like he’s making a mark somewhere, that he’s touched something in the last handful of months, but the housekeepers keep everything pristine, even the remote controls lined up perfectly on the coffee table. 

Castiel comes home around five, the earliest Dean has ever seen him. “Oh, hi,” Dean says, jumping up from the couch (at least he’s not watching Dr Sexy this time) to take Castiel’s briefcase from him. Castiel never asked Dean to do this, but he grabs it and takes it to Castiel’s office every night anyway. Work never seems to end for Castiel. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says when Dean returns. 

Dean blushes under his gaze. “Look, I’m -- I’m real sorry about how I acted. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“You weren’t thinking anything,” Castiel says. “You were in heat.” 

Dean blushes redder, feels it spread down the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Still shouldn’t be trying to fuck the boss. We have an agreement and everything.” 

Castiel’s mouth turns down. “Right,” he says, the word clipped in his mouth. “Considering the circumstances, all is forgiven.” 

“Thanks,” Dean says, eyes on the ground. 

“So,” Castiel says, his voice a little louder. “Dinner. What are you in the mood for?” 

 

That night, Castiel holds him extra tight and whispers, “Goodnight, Dean” extra softly against his ear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s a rash climbing up from Castiel’s chest up to his neck. Dean doesn’t mention it at first, though his eyes widen the first time he sees it peeking up over Castiel’s collar -- it’s red and blotchy, angry welt-like bumps, and Dean just hopes it’s allergies._
> 
> _It keeps spreading, and finally Dean can’t keep quiet anymore: “Dude, what’s up with the rash?”_
> 
> _Castiel dodges his eyes and is quiet for a long time. “Alpha-Ex,” he says._

There’s a rash climbing up from Castiel’s chest up to his neck. Dean doesn’t mention it at first, though his eyes widen the first time he sees it peeking up over Castiel’s collar -- it’s red and blotchy, angry welt-like bumps, and Dean just hopes it’s allergies. 

It keeps spreading, and finally Dean can’t keep quiet anymore: “Dude, what’s up with the rash?” 

Castiel dodges his eyes and is quiet for a long time. “Alpha-Ex,” he says. 

Dean gapes. “And you’re still taking it?!” 

“My doctor advised I stop,” Castiel says, taking a bite of the fettuccini alfredo Dean has made for him. “But I don’t have time for the… results… of going off of it.”

“It’s going to get worse!” 

Castiel shakes his head. “It’ll go away.” 

“You can’t,” Dean says, realizing he’s sounding a little hysterical. “You have to go off it. You have to.” 

“Dean,” Castiel says. His tone is grave. “I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won’t -- you won’t lose me --” 

“We have an agreement, and I won’t violate that. Violate you.” 

Dean looks down at his uneaten food. It’s cold now, but he’s not hungry. “It’s fine,” he says. “We can figure it out.” 

Castiel is just poking at his food now, too, and Dean realizes that he hasn’t been eating much lately, that it’s probably the nausea that goes along with the rash. When there are side effects, they are severe -- they only get worse until the alpha is bedbound and delirious. 

“I know you,” Dean says, “I know you, and I know you won’t -- won’t do anything.” 

“You put an awful lot of trust in me,” Castiel says. 

“Yeah, well.” 

“What happens if you go into heat again?” 

“We’ll figure it out. It’ll be fine. Come on, Cas. Don’t sacrifice yourself.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me ‘Cas.’” 

“Shit. Castiel. Sorry.” 

“I think I like it.” 

“Then just… please,” Dean says, “for me.” 

Later, Dean watches as Castiel flushes the rest of his prescription down the toilet. 

 

It’s a month past Dean’s last heat, and he spends days worrying. Late at night, Cas wrapped around him, Dean says, “It’s been a month.” 

Castiel presses his face up against Dean’s neck, scenting him, the most intimate they’ve ever been. Dean knows Castiel’s sense of smell is back to alpha sensitivity, even more sensitive than Dean’s own nose for pheromones, and he holds his breath. 

“I can’t smell it on you at all,” Castiel says. “There’s not anything to worry about.” 

Castiel pulls away from Dean’s neck, and now they are staring at each other, just inches apart. “Are you sure?” Dean asks, nearly choking on the words. 

“I’m sure.” Castiel’s mouth twitches in a gentle smile. It reassures Dean; he feels it down to his bones. 

Dean is drifting to sleep when Castiel says, “I forgot to tell you. There’s a happy hour this week and plus ones are encouraged. Can you attend with me on Friday?” 

They haven’t had to do this before, faking it in front of other people, and Dean is back awake immediately. “Sure,” he says, his confidence all pretend. “What, uh, what should I wear?” 

“Dark jeans and a button-up would be perfect. I can leave money for you to go shopping if you need to.” 

“Yeah, I, uh, really only have t-shirts.” 

“And ripped jeans,” Castiel says with another smile. That smile is becoming one of Dean’s favorite things. 

 

Castiel leaves a couple hundred bucks in cash for Dean like it’s nothing. Dean has never felt more awkward shopping for clothes -- the department store is way over his usual budget, and the clothes are nothing like he’d usually wear, and the money isn’t his own. He feels like a kept man, though he guesses that’s probably what he is. 

The salesperson convinces him that a dark purple will bring out the green in his eyes, and she’s right. When he looks in the mirror, he’s not entirely sure who he is looking at. He’s someone else, that’s for sure, but he feels emboldened by the character he will be playing: someone good enough to be Castiel’s boyfriend, someone smart enough and stylish enough and rich enough. 

Friday comes too soon. Castiel warns him he’ll need a good answer to what he does for a living, something that doesn’t involve getting naked on the internet or playing house with Castiel, so he decides to say he’s a freelance architect. He was a weird kid, always wanted to be an architect when he grew up. But Sam was the smart one and could be the first of their family to go to college, so Dean saved up all the money he could for Sam and not himself. 

They don’t take Dean’s baby but instead Castiel’s expensive sedan. It’s sleek and dark red and an ok machine for something ran by computers. 

The bar is fancy, though Dean hardly expected the kind of hole in the walls where he used to pick up betas, and the drinks are expensive. Dean immediately orders a whiskey; surprisingly, Castiel orders the same. Dean gulps half of it before they even find the table full of well-dressed businessmen and women. 

Castiel introduces Dean to all of them -- so many names Dean will never be able to remember -- and calls Dean his partner. Some of the men shake Dean’s hand like homosexuality might be catching. Gloria Abaddon looks at him like a piece of meat, says, “I had no idea Castiel could land someone so handsome.” 

Dean turns red and not because of the compliment. Castiel grabs his hand under the table and it grounds Dean and settles the rolling of his stomach. 

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to business, so Dean isn’t expected to talk much. He orders another drink and tries to sip -- Castiel is still on his first, taking it slow, though all Dean wants is to be drunk enough to think this thing with Cas might be real. 

Castiel doesn’t let go of his hand until they get back to the car. 

 

It starts to happen more and more often: Dean wakes up with Castiel hard and pressed tight against him, though Cas rolls away the moment Dean wakes him. Sometimes Dean wishes he would stay, but it’s just the hormones talking. Even outside of his heat, an alpha so close makes him feel so needy. 

Dean tells him it’s ok, but Cas apologizes profusely every time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Crowley starts to walk away, then turns abruptly and snaps his fingers at Dean. “I know where I’ve seen you before,” he says._
> 
> _Dean and Cas both turn into ghosts. Dean feels like he is floating away from his body. “Yeah?” Dean says, mustering up nonchalance._
> 
> _“What’s the site called? Omega Live, is it?”_

A few weeks later, Castiel comes home scowling. “They scheduled a _teambuilder_ next week.” He said the word with more spite than Dean had ever seen in him. “As if I don’t see these people enough, now I have to bowl with them.” 

Dean took his briefcase and coat and pointed to dinner on the counter. “Eat and you’ll feel better.” 

“You’re invited,” Castiel says. 

“I hate bowling,” Dean says. 

“Me too.” 

They smile at each other, small and secret. “At least we’ll be miserable together,” Dean says. 

 

There are more people than there were at the happy hour. “This is mandatory,” Castiel tells Dean as they walk in. Dean is overwhelmed, but at least he gets to wear something more comfortable this time -- he and Castiel are both in long-sleeve henleys and dark jeans. Dean pulls his sleeves up to his elbows. Sometimes Castiel stares at his arms and blushes when Dean catches him. 

One of the new faces is Fergus Crowley, and he stares at Dean the same way Abaddon does, like he’s something to be eaten. “You look familiar,” Crowley says, squinting up at Dean’s face.

“I doubt you know him,” Cas says. “He just moved from Kansas a few months ago.” 

When did Dean tell Cas he’s from Kansas? 

“Oh?” Crowley says. “Whereabouts?” 

“Lawrence,” Dean says. 

“Nice little town.” 

“It’s ok.” 

“What brings you to Austin?” 

“Him,” Dean says, gesturing at Cas. 

“Hmm.” 

“We met online,” Castiel supplies. 

Dean glances at Cas in surprise. He expected a different lie, a total lie, not something so close to the truth. 

“Well,” a guy whose name Dean can’t remember says. “Let’s get started!” 

They split into teams, order beers and nachos, and start bowling. Dean and Cas are both terrible, but they laugh about it -- only looking at each other, no one else existing. 

The shoes are too small for Dean so he’s uncomfortable as hell in more than one way, but they make it through the event with only a handful of beers each. By the end, Dean is pleasantly buzzed and Cas keeps touching him, running a hand over his shoulder as he passes Dean’s seat, grabbing his knee, leaning over to whisper gossip in Dean’s ear, lips nearly touching skin. A couple times he even looks like he is going to kiss Dean, but backs off at the last moment. 

Everyone is taking off the horrible bowling shoes -- Dean groaning in relief -- when Crowley approaches from several lanes over. “Great game,” he says. 

Castiel scowls and Dean says, “Don’t be a dick.” 

Crowley puts his hands up and makes a face like he’s not sorry at all. He starts to walk away, then turns abruptly and snaps his fingers at Dean. “I know where I’ve seen you before,” he says. 

Dean and Cas both turn into ghosts. Dean feels like he is floating away from his body. “Yeah?” Dean says, mustering up nonchalance. 

“What’s the site called? Omega Live, is it?” 

A couple other people turn to watch the exchange. Crowley is speaking too loud. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel says. Dean is glad Cas can find his voice; Dean is dying on the inside. This is the last thing Cas wanted. 

“I usually watch the ladies,” Crowley says. “But I’ve seen you.” 

“You must have confused him with someone else,” Cas says. “This has been fun, but we have another obligation. Dean, put your shoes on so we can go.” 

Dean grabs his boots and ties the laces with tremors racing up and down his hands. He doesn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. Shoes on, Castiel puts his hand gently on Dean’s lower back and guides him out of the building. 

In the car, Dean lets out a long breath. He might be having a panic attack. Castiel just looks at him. “It’s ok,” Cas says at last. 

“No, it’s not!” 

“It’s none of his business what you do,” Castiel says. 

“He looks like the kind of bastard that will tell everyone.” 

“True,” Cas says, and he cracks a smile. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll believe him. He’s always stirring something up.” 

“They can check for themselves,” Dean says. 

“Most of them don’t even know what Omega Live is.” 

“You and Crowley do.” Sometimes Dean forgets how he and Cas met. 

Cas looks away like he forgot, too, and starts driving to avoid Dean’s eyes. “It’s ok,” he says again. “Everything will be fine.” 

 

Castiel has been getting home earlier, sometimes as early as five, and he stops working so much at home, instead helping Dean make dinner, moving around each other in the kitchen without needing words, watching cooking shows on tv (Dean is addicted), sitting outside on the deck and just talking aimlessly with beers in hand. It’s so normal and domestic and perfect. Dean forgets he’s only there for money, forgets about the direct deposit to his bank account every two weeks, forgets about their agreements. 

Dean kind of stops doing shows. It’s not on purpose, but he slows down, and then he raises his price for nudity, and his rankings start to go down until he’s not even on the first page of models anymore. With so fewer private requests coming in, one day he just doesn’t log on. One day turns into two, which turns into a week, which turns into a fortnight. 

Sometime after he quits camming, he wakes up with his legs tangled with Castiel and Castiel’s face up against his neck. “Mm,” Cas says, “happy omega.” He’s only half-awake at most, basically just sleep-talking, and Dean feels a smile against his throat like a kiss. 

“Wake up,” Dean says into Cas’s hair. 

“No,” Cas says. Petulant, still pressed up against Dean’s neck, scenting him. 

“Yes,” Dean says. They go through this every morning, but the scenting is new. “Running today.” 

Castiel groans, rolls away, gets out of bed with the most drama he can manage. Dean secretly likes this morning ritual, Cas’s whining and melodrama, but he’ll never tell Cas that. 

Over breakfast, Cas is unusually quiet. He picks at his food. “Are you back on--” Dean starts, but Castiel cuts him off with a scowl. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?” 

Dean chokes on a bite of toast. “What?” 

“I can smell it on you.” 

“Well, your nose must be fucked up, because I am definitely not… just, no. I’m not.” 

“You aren’t camming anymore.” 

Dean blinks once, twice, three times. “Have you been watching me?” 

“How do you think I found you in the first place?” 

Dean blushes crimson. He never considered that Cas might be still watching. It makes him feel dirty. “Look,” he says, trying to make his voice sound angry. “I don’t appreciate being accused of--” he almost says _cheating on you_ , but rethinks it at the last moment “--of doing that. How do you think I would explain what I do for money? Doing shows is one thing, but this -- this is something else, you know?” 

“I know,” Castiel says. He takes his half finished food and flushes it down the garbage disposal. “But you smell… mated.” 

They glare at each other for a long moment. “Well, I’m not,” Dean says at last. 

Castiel shrugs, feigning indifference, and heads out the door. 

 

Dean spends the day restless, fidgeting, going over the conversation in his mind, all the ways he fucked it up. _Cas is going to make me move out,_ he realizes, and it clenches around his heart like a vise. 

Lately, Dean has been sending Castiel little things he finds on the internet, funny stuff, cute stuff (Cas loves kittens, and Dean only made fun of him a little when he found out), but today he stays away, and Castiel doesn’t text him at all except to say _Dinner at 10._

Dean makes Cas’s favorite meal. If it’s the last one, he’s at least going to make it good. But Castiel doesn’t come in until eleven, and it’s cold by then, and Dean is feeling more and more anxious by the minute. 

Cas comes in looking exhausted, completely spent, and he says, “Sorry I’m late. I’m just going to crash.” 

Dean puts away the food and then sneaks into their bedroom. Cas is laying there with an arm over his eyes. Dean can tell he’s not asleep yet. 

“I,” Dean starts. “I -- can I stay with you tonight or…?” 

“Why not,” Castiel says, weary. 

Dean changes and climbs into bed, but for once, Castiel doesn’t latch on to him. Dean thinks for a long time of what he should say, can’t come up with anything genius. 

“Cas,” he says. “I’m really not -- there’s not anyone. I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “You don’t belong to me.” He drops his arm but still doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “I just forgot for a minute.” 

“Maybe -- maybe it’s you,” Dean says, feeling brave. 

“What’s me?” 

“The someone that I smell like.” 

“You smell like a happy omega.” 

“Yeah. Maybe it’s you.” 

Cas turns his head, staring at Dean in the light pollution from outside. “No,” he says quietly, his voice unbelieving. 

“Maybe,” Dean says. “My suppressants failed, and you had to go off Alpha-Ex, and now you say I smell like…” 

“No,” Castiel says again. 

Dean drops his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “It was a stupid thing to say.” 

“What do I smell like?” 

Dean has never scented Cas before, not with purpose, but he scoots closer on the bed and nuzzles into Cas’s neck. “Happy alpha,” he murmurs, not moving away. 

“Maybe that’s you, too.” 

Dean pulls away. They are inches from each other, eyes bright. Dean can barely breathe. “Cas,” he whispers. “Can I…?” He reaches out to touch Cas’s face, sliding his hand along his jaw. 

“Can you what?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Cas looks awe-struck. “Please,” he says. 

It’s barely a kiss, just the slightest brush of lips, because Dean is terrified and has no idea how to do this. How do you kiss someone who pays you for your companionship?

Cas makes a little noise low in his throat. Dean answers it by kissing more fully, opens his mouth under Cas’s, gasps the first moment where Cas’s tongue touches his. He’s never been kissed like this, so carefully, like he might break; he’s never slept with an alpha so the flood of scents sends him reeling. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas whispers against his mouth. Dean can feel his eyelashes on his cheek. 

“Even though I’m a whore?” Dean says. 

Cas jerks back like he’s been slapped. “Fuck,” he says, maybe the first time Dean has heard him curse. “I’m -- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have --” He doesn’t finish the sentence, just shoves himself out of bed with shaking hands. “I’m staying in the guest room,” he says, and flees. 

Dean doesn’t sleep at all, and the next day, he goes into heat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweet alpha come home, _Dean texts_. 
> 
> Why aren't you doing a heat show? 
> 
> u wanna watch? 
> 
> Yes.

It was the stress of an alpha rejection that sent his hormones out of control -- this is part of the reason why Dean doesn’t fuck with alphas, because it can make an omega crazy, because heat can come at a moment’s notice to try to draw an alpha back in. 

Dean spends all afternoon ignoring it. His temperature rises and there’s an itch he can’t scratch under his skin. His dick is hard and he’s slick enough to wear a pair of extra-absorbent heatbriefs. He thinks about the toys packed away in the closet, unused since he stopped doing cam shows, but what he really wants is Castiel. 

The kiss was incredible before Dean went and ruined it. When he’s not thinking about fucking Castiel, he’s thinking about how ashamed he is for destroying everything good in his world. Castiel made him feel less lonely, and now… there’s a gaping hole where that comfort used to live. 

Cas comes home early, without a text requesting dinner. He finds Dean in Dean’s bedroom, and starts with, “I think that it would be wise if--” but stops, nostrils flaring. “You’re in heat,” he says, voice vague. 

“Thanks for the update,” Dean says. His legs fall open on their own accord, an invitation to an alpha who smells like home. He’s glad he’s wearing clothes, that this gesture is only a little obscene and not disgustingly needy. 

“Because of me,” Castiel says. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I guess.” 

“I’ll stay in a hotel,” Castiel says, backing out of the room. His expression is a weird combination of panicked and wanting. 

“Don’t,” Dean says. “Stay.” 

“Dean, we had an agreement.” 

“Fuck the agreement. I want you.” 

Cas says, “It’s just the heat talking. But I can’t -- I can’t trust myself with you right now.” 

Dean whines as his alpha backs further away, bumps backwards into the wall of the hallway. As far away from Dean as he can get while holding eye contact. Dean has never seen Cas’s pupils wide like this, never seen his nostrils flare and lips part like they need a tongue to slide between them. 

“Please,” Dean says. “I wanted you yesterday, and I wasn’t in heat then. You want me, don’t you?” He’s not sure how he’s even making sentences when all he can think about is the scent of Cas, the way his hands feel on Dean’s body, even just touching at night, clothed and chaste. 

“Yes,” Castiel whispers. 

“You’ve wanted me for a long time,” Dean says.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers again. 

“Then have me.” 

“Not like this,” Cas says. “Not like this.” 

Dean’s legs spread further apart and he reaches a hand down to press against the swell of his cock, trying to force it away. Castiel’s eyes track the movement and he licks his lips. 

“Not like this,” he repeats. “We can talk about it when -- when you’re not in heat --” 

“I need you now,” Dean says. 

Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I’m getting a hotel. Please let me know when your heat is over.” 

Castiel turns away, looking like it’s painful to do so, and Dean hears him in the bedroom packing a few days’ worth of things to take with him. On the way out, Castiel pauses outside Dean’s room and just stares at him for a long moment. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas says softly. 

Dean looks away. 

 

Dean uses just his fingers as long as he can, pretending they are Castiel’s, long and lovely. After the first day it’s not enough, though, and he has to pull out toys -- his fake knot, the big one, because he imagines Castiel must be big with all that alpha inside him. 

Day two and he’s texting Cas. _please help me need u_

Castiel ignores him, and the rejection burns. 

_i’ll be so good for u_

No answer. 

_sweet alpha come home_

_Why aren’t you doing a heat show?_

_u wanna watch?_

Dean comes again by the time the answer chimes in. _Yes._

Dean rushes to fish his cam out of the toy box and set it up on its tripod. He doesn’t worry much about angle or zoom, just makes sure it is focused on the bed. _send me a private req_

The ding comes in almost automatically. Castiel’s username is Thursday00, and Dean realizes with a thumping heart that he’s done private shows for Cas before. A lot of them, going back nearly a year before they actually met. Dean isn’t sure why he never asked for Cas’s username before, maybe he didn’t want to know, but in heat, it sends a rush of ecstasy down his spine. Sweet alpha _wants_ him. 

Dean accepts the request and his screen changes to show the camera view. Dean looks like a mess, hair akimbo, toys strewn about the bed, flushed red and slicked with sweat. But the message Cas sends says, _You look… amazing._

Dean gives a tight smile to the camera. He figures it’s time to put on a show -- Cas is paying nearly five bucks a minute -- so he turns around and presents his ass to the camera. He can’t see what he looks like from here, doesn’t want to, but his heat has him shoving three fingers inside himself and moaning at the intrusion. 

When it’s not enough, he grabs the toy closest to his hand and shoves it in. He cries out, again, and starts pumping it in and out, shoving his face into the pillows. He puts on a good show for Cas, arching his back, adjusting the angle so Cas can see his dripping cock and the toy at the same time. He turns his face away from the camera. 

Dean comes explosively without touching his cock, and he pushes the fake knot inside himself, then just holds it in while he tries to catch his breath. When his chest stops heaving, he slowly works the toy out of himself, regretting how empty he feels immediately. 

As soon as he can move, Dean exits the show and switches off the camera. 

He has never felt so ashamed to be an omega.

A text comes in. _Thank you,_ it says. 

_ur the one paying_ , Dean replies, _just doing my job_

Cas is silent after that. 

It’s five days this time. By the end, Dean is unbearably sore -- both his dick and his hole -- and his muscles ache all over. But on the morning of day six, Dean invites Castiel back home, and they sit together eating breakfast and not speaking. 

On the way out the door, Cas touches Dean’s shoulder. It’s an awkward pat, but Dean’s stomach flutters all the same. 

 

_Dinner at 8:30._

Dean cooks barefoot, wearing his most comfortable holey jeans, the denim pooling around his ankles. He’s trying a new recipe and hoping Cas likes it, even though he is kind of dreading dinner after begging Cas -- more than once -- to take his heat. Dean thinks this is probably just another way he’s disappointed him. 

Cas comes home early. Dean takes his briefcase and hangs up his ugly trenchcoat in the closet. Castiel watches him with an unreadable look in his eyes as Dean finishes dinner. 

Eating the apple-stuffed pork chops, Dean brings it up: “You used to watch me a lot.” 

“Why are you surprised? You know this is how I found you.” 

“I just thought -- if you’d seen -- you wouldn’t want --” 

“Something about you,” Cas says. “I couldn’t stay away.” 

“Did you -- do you -- touch yourself? Watching me?” 

“Not usually,” Cas says. “Alpha-Ex.” 

“But this time? The other day?” 

Castiel purses his lips. “I did,” he says. 

Dean tries to imagine it, Castiel’s pretty hand wrapped around his thick cock, but it seems so separate from the Cas he knows. The Cas he thought didn’t even like him that much. “Oh,” Dean says, because it seems like a response is required. 

“I shouldn’t have,” Cas says. 

“I mean, what else are you going to do, watching me fuck myself on a fake knot?” 

Castiel looks at Dean with his deep ocean eyes. “You’re upset with me.” 

“No,” Dean says, and it’s half true. “I just… what do you want with me? Why am I here?” 

Cas starts doing the dishes, even though it’s usually Dean’s job. Dean just watches. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he says again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

“And you thought about me making dinner and holding me at night.” 

“I would think that much is obvious.” 

They look at each other for a long, charged moment. “But you don’t want to kiss me.” 

“You have no idea how much I want to. But I won’t -- there’s a difference between sleeping together and paying someone for sex. That’s not what you are.” 

“Might as well be,” Dean says. 

Castiel’s lips go thin and he frowns. “I feel like we may be nearing the end,” he says, “of this relationship.” 

Dean gapes. “What?” 

“Our suppressants failed. We’ve, at the very least, scent bonded. Crowley has found out. I don’t think I can be around you anymore.” 

Instead of waiting for Dean to respond, Castiel turns and walks away, and he locks himself in his office for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean wants to say no, but he also wants his last night with Castiel, the last night he’ll let someone touch him for a long time. He realizes with sudden clarity that Cas has ruined him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was so depressing I decided to post a second chapter today... that is also depressing... sorry guys.

Dean packs up his meager belongings. He keeps replaying the conversation in his mind, trying to find the part where he made Castiel reject him completely. Trying to find the part that meant _I don’t want you anymore._

His lease on his little apartment ended months ago and he didn’t renew it. He has no idea where he’s going to go, which couch he will be able to sleep on. 

Castiel pokes his head in after one a.m. “Bedtime,” he says. 

“Last hurrah or something?” 

Cas tilts his head. “I suppose.” 

Dean wants to say no, but he also wants his last night with Castiel, the last night he’ll let someone touch him for a long time. He realizes with sudden clarity that Cas has ruined him. Dean just says, “I’m coming.” 

In bed, Castiel wraps around Dean, nestling his face into the soft hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. He can feel Cas scenting him, rubbing his nose in Dean’s hair. 

Dean tries not to think about it being the last night, but he can’t sleep -- and knows Cas can’t, either, though they both pretend -- so all that is in his mind is the idea that he’ll never feel Cas’s hands on him again. Tonight Cas’s hand is on Dean’s hip, rubbing fingertips on the strip of skin exposed there, and it’s so perfect and _right_.

Dean wants to press his face into Castiel’s chest, wants to fill his inhales with the spring smell of Cas, wants to cradle Cas in his arms and beg to be allowed to stay. Instead, he just lays there, impotent. 

Morning comes and Castiel, for the first time since Dean has known him, doesn’t press snooze. He says, “I’m going running.” 

“It’s not a running day,” Dean says. He stares at Cas’s rumpled hair, rumpled shirt, the exhausted beauty of him. 

“It is now.” 

Dean makes pancakes and bacon and eggs, a feast of a breakfast. Dean doesn’t take any for himself. Cas eats in the same pattern every time, from least favorite to most favorite thing on his plate, which means eggs-pancakes-bacon. While Cas eats, Dean busies himself cleaning up the kitchen. 

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Castiel says. 

“I’ve got friends,” Dean says. “I’ll clear out today.” 

Castiel nods. “That would be best.” 

The omega inside of Dean wants to beg, but he tamps it down, reminding himself that it’s just the hormones of a scent bond, nothing _real_. 

Castiel puts his coat on. “I guess,” Dean says, “I won’t see you later.” 

Castiel looks at Dean, expression back to blank like when they met. “No, I guess you won’t.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, then closes it again. “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed our time together very much.” 

“Me too,” Dean says. 

“Goodbye,” Castiel says. 

Dean gives a little awkward wave. As soon as Castiel is gone, Dean packs up his couple of boxes into Baby -- everything else is in storage -- and hits the road. He drives aimlessly, heading outside the city. He hasn’t been driving enough since he moved in with Cas; it was just better to putter around the house, Castiel’s scent all over everything Dean touched. 

He puts in a tape and sings along loudly, off-key, and rolls down his windows and speeds around the curves and hills out towards Enchanted Rock. It’s a beautiful day, the sky blue like Castiel’s eyes, clouds so perfectly shaped that they look fake. Still, he doesn’t find the peace the road normally brings him. Everything inside him keens with acute loss. 

At the rock, Dean pulls into a parking spot and dials Charlie. She answers the phone with a squeal. “We haven’t talked in so long! Where have you been?!” 

“You know, just around. Kind of haven’t been talking to anyone.” 

“Drinking?” 

“Ah, no,” Dean says, even though he knows she won’t believe him. “Listen -- my roommate just kicked me out. Do you think I could --” 

“Eee! Ohmygod, we are going to have the _best_ sleepovers. I’m working from home today, so come over whenever!” 

Dean is so relieved he didn’t have to ask the question, didn’t have to experience the shame of asking for help. He’s never been very good at that. “See you soon,” he says, and hangs up the phone. 

Dean keeps driving, circling out to Fredericksburg and spending some time at a little coffee shop on Llano’s Main Street, and he starts to head home around sunset. 

No, not home. _Home_ isn’t his anymore. Instead, he drives past the area where Castiel lives and up to Charlie’s little northside duplex. When he knocks, Charlie throws the door open and then throws her arms around Dean’s neck, standing on tip-toes to do so. 

“Oh, look at you!” she says. “You look great! I mean, considering you’re homeless.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Charlie. You look good too.” 

“You know your flirting has no effect on me.” 

“Right,” Dean says. He forces a grin to match Charlie’s. “I forgot.” 

They order Chinese food and start a Firefly marathon. It doesn’t take much of Charlie’s geek babble for Dean to get comfortable, and they drink a few beers so he’s relaxing into the couch cushions before they’re through “Bushwhacked.” 

“So,” Charlie says, peeking over at him from underneath red bangs. “You went and mated and then it didn’t work out so now you’re here.” 

“What? Haha,” Dean says. “That’s hilarious. You know I don’t mess with alphas.” 

“Dude, I may be beta, but I’m not totally scent blind. You reek of a broken bond.” 

“What?” Dean says again. He tries not to look guilty. “Charlie, come on. How long have we known each other?” 

“Long enough for me to know when you’re lying.” 

Dean looks away from her, down at his beer bottle. He picks at the label with a thumbnail. “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says. 

“Did he knot you?” 

“Charlie!” 

“Since when were you shy about sex?” 

“We didn’t fuck at all, ok? Are you happy?” 

“Dean Winchester bonded with someone but didn’t fuck them?” 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Dean says again. 

“Well, the good news is, if it’s just a scent bond, you should be over it in a few days. Chemically, I mean. A broken heart is a little harder to get over.” 

Dean scoffs. “My heart isn’t broken.” 

“Well, good! Then we’ll have you back to normal in no time!” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Back to normal.” 

 

Charlie’s couch is a pull-out, so Dean doesn’t have to struggle to fit over six foot of limbs onto a tiny couch. Instead he’s got metal support bars digging into his back through the thin mattress. It’s nothing like Castiel’s perfect pillow-top bed, the kind you just sink into and never want to leave. 

He didn’t really expect to sleep anyway, so he turns the tv on, volume low, and half-watches, half thinks about Cas. Dean keeps looking at his phone and thinking about texting him, but that seems too pathetic. Instead he tries to remember all the things that infuriate him about Castiel: his snores, his workaholicism, his complete lack of ability to talk to people like a normal fucking human being. 

“Fuck,” Dean whispers into the night. Maybe all the things he hates about Castiel endear Dean to him, too. 

Dean doesn’t fuck with alphas, so he’s never bonded, never felt a hurt that feels like grief. He’s never gone into mourning over someone still living. He’s never had his heart broken. He’s never felt so lost and alone, even before Cas, when all he seemed to feel was lonely. So he takes a shot of tequila, and then another, trying to stop the trainwreck that is his thoughts. 

It doesn’t take much to get him drunk these days, so after a few shots, he’s gone enough to curl up on the horrifically uncomfortable bed, close his eyes, and sleep like a baby.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean looks at the camera. He knows it’s high-res enough for Cas to see his red-rimmed eyes. Dean doesn’t take off his clothes. He just stares at his computer screen until his eyes blur, and Castiel doesn’t say a thing._
> 
> _Dean swallows another shot’s worth out of the bottle. He stares straight back into the camera again. He says, “I miss you.”_
> 
> _Thursday00 logs off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content note** : The next few chapters depict/discuss Dean's relapse into alcoholism.

Charlie says to stay as long as Dean wants or needs, but Charlie doesn’t know that he fucks himself on camera for a paycheck, so he spends the next few days checking out apartments. His last dumpy place was a leftover from when he was broke, but he thinks he can probably splurge a little more on a nice little one-bedroom with a good kitchen. He’s been spoiled. 

His new place is on the fourth floor, but there’s a parking garage, and his little balcony overlooks a green space that isn’t quite a park but isn’t a concrete jungle, either. The kitchen is nice, all new appliances and recently-renovated granite countertops. He’s used to cooking every night now, so there’s always way too much food in his fridge.

He doesn’t want to touch the savings he’d built up for Sam’s future tuition, so he has to get back on camera. The first few shows are real rough. He’s forgotten how to be engaging, how to flirt and smile and sell the fantasy. No one would want him if they could smell the lingering bond that never seems to leave his skin. Charlie keeps saying it’ll go away soon, but it’s been a month. 

Eventually he gets back into the groove and the cash starts rolling in again. He gained weight with Cas, his soft belly growing into a legitimate pudge, but no one seems to mind, especially when he does his fake heat shows. The suppressants work now that he’s away from an alpha. 

It’s months later, the scent bond finally faded to nothing, when Thursday00 logs into Dean’s public room. Dean stares at the name on the list of his guests, long enough that someone shouts, _SHOW US THE GOODS_ in the chat room, and then Dean snaps out of it and closes his computer to instantly disconnect. 

The next time Thursday00 logs in, Dean sends a private request. Castiel accepts and there Dean is, on camera, staring at an empty chat space. Castiel is just waiting, paying four bucks a minute for the pleasure, but Dean isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. 

“I’ll be right back,” he chokes out, then rushes to his kitchen for the bottle of Jack he hides behind the pots and pans. He gulps straight out of the bottle, standing at the counter until he can feel the alcohol hit his bloodstream.

Castiel is still waiting, still silent, when Dean returns, paying to watch an empty room. 

Dean looks at the camera. He knows it’s high-res enough for Cas to see his red-rimmed eyes. Dean doesn’t take off his clothes. He just stares at his computer screen until his eyes blur, and Castiel doesn’t say a thing. 

Dean swallows another shot’s worth out of the bottle. He stares straight back into the camera again. He says, “I miss you.” 

Thursday00 logs off. 

 

It’s like the bond -- or at least his broken heart -- never ended. Dean tosses and turns in bed, he feels sick performing in front of other alphas. All he wants is Castiel’s grumpiness and awkward conversations, Dr. Sexy marathons and comfortable quiet dinners. 

And the money, he reminds himself. That’s the most important thing. Because he’s never been in love, and certainly wouldn’t fall for an alpha, especially one who watches him perform. That’s… humiliating. Does Castiel have any idea how that makes him feel? Does he care? 

Probably not, Dean decides. Why would he. 

The next time he’s online, he blocks Thursday00 from accessing his account or shows. It’s time to be finished with this. 

 

Dean is drinking too much again, doing most of his shows either drunk or hungover. He knows they can see it on him, but none of his fans seem to mind. A drunk omega is a pliable one. They imagine taking advantage of him in this state, he knows, at least some of them; some others might actually fantasize about taking care of him during his hangovers -- that’s what Castiel would do, pull the curtains and bring him Aleve, feed him greasy food that soaks up alcohol like a sponge, kiss his forehead and tuck him in for a nap. 

And then later, give him that disappointed look that tears Dean in two. Because Dean is a fucking drunk mess. No wonder Cas stopped wanting him. 

“You’re drinking again,” Sam says from across the country, accusing. 

“Don’t matter, Sammy,” Dean says, trying to sound sober. “Still paying your tuition, you know?” 

“Yeah, what happens when you lose your job because you’re an alcoholic?” 

“Won’t happen,” Dean says. 

Under his breath, Sam says, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“This job ain’t like the others,” Dean says. 

“A garage is a garage, Dean. Bobby’s family, and he still fired you. Why would anyone else put up with this shit?” Underneath the question is one that Sam won’t ever voice: _Why do I put up with this shit?_

“Sorry I’m not perfect like you,” Dean says. “Sorry, man.” 

“Come on, Dean. You know that’s not what I mean.” 

“Then what the hell do you mean? I’m not good enough for you -- I’m not good enough for anyone.” 

“That’s not true.” 

Dean scoffs. “Sure, ok.” 

“What happened to that guy you were seeing? Charlie said you broke up.” 

“Charlie needs to mind her own business.” 

“She said you scent bonded,” Sam says with a sigh. “God, I hate to ask this, because it’s gross and you’re my brother, but did you let him…?” 

“No!” 

“Well, at least that’s something.” 

“One thing I’ve done right,” Dean agrees. 

Sam sighs again. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.” 

“I’m _fine,_ Sam.” 

“You’re drunk right now!” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but can’t find the energy to lie. 

“Look, I’ve got to go pick up Jess. Take better care of yourself, please.” 

Dean says he will, tries to tease Sam about Jess but can’t think of anything good, says he misses him instead. Sam gets quiet and says, “I miss you, too, man. You’ll always be my favorite brother.” 

Dean laughs. Hangs up. Turns on the cam.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s months and months after their last meeting, but Dean gets what he wants: an email that just says_ I miss you _. Attached is a picture of Dean that he doesn’t remember Cas taking -- he’s looking at Cas off-screen and laughing, crinkled eyes and everything. Dean’s heart aches._

Dean has a new regular: K1ngofHell. He never says anything, never tips, just watches. For no particular reason, Dean hates him. Maybe it’s the username. Maybe it’s that he hates everyone who watches him these days, even the ones who pad his paycheck. He wishes he never blocked Castiel, wishes he had at least that small contact, humiliating as it is. 

It’s months and months after their last meeting, but Dean gets what he wants: an email that just says _I miss you_. Attached is a picture of Dean that he doesn’t remember Cas taking -- he’s looking at Cas off-screen and laughing, crinkled eyes and everything. Dean’s heart aches. 

Drunk and stupid, he replies: _miss u too_ and takes a picture of himself fake-smiling to attach. Real smiles don’t come often these days. 

_You don’t look well._

Even Dean can see it: the contrast between the two pictures is extreme. One says _happy omega_ and the other says _drunken mess omega._ He types, _just miss u is all_

_My bond hasn’t receded either._

_come over_

Castiel is silent for so long that Dean just knows he’s fucked it up again. Too needy. Too longing. Too yearning. At last, a reply comes in: _Working._

Before Dean can think of a response, a second email dings in his inbox. _Later. Address?_

Once sending it off, Dean starts to panic. Only his kitchen is clean -- the rest of his apartment looks like a depressed person lives there, the trashcan overflowing and piles of clutter waiting to be put away, a mountain of laundry in his room and sex toys everywhere. He rushes to clean it up, starting with the evidence of his camming, then taking out the trash and bleaching his bathroom counter and trying to put some of the laundry away, though he can’t remember which pile is dirty and which is clean. Last he takes a shower, scrubbing the _disgusting_ off his skin as well as he can, scrubbing himself raw, the water so hot it hurts. 

He doesn’t have a bookshelf so he doesn’t know what to do with his piles of books. In the end he just shoves them up against a wall, neatly stacked. He turns on a rerun of Master Chef, trying to stay calm, and lays down on the couch. It’s a nice one; when he signed the lease on the apartment, he splurged on furniture, too. 

It’s only six. Castiel could be working for hours still, and Dean has all this nervous energy inside himself. He has no idea what he will do or say once Cas arrives. Apologize more? Grovel, even? Beg to be knotted and mated and claimed and loved? 

It’s only a couple hours later when he receives an email: _On my way._

Dean hurriedly turns off the tv, connects his speaker to his phone, and plays the kind of chill music he listens to to come down after a show. It’s stupid indie shit that Sam introduced him to and he’ll never admit to actually liking, sometimes even more than his usual classic rock habit. 

He’s pacing, watching the clock, when there’s a strong knock on his door. It takes ten steps to get to the door from his living area, and he crosses them at a jog. Not that he’s desperate or anything. 

When he opens the door, Castiel looks and smells incredible. He’s still in a suit from work, though his tie is untied and the top button of his shirt is undone, showing off the beginnings of his collarbones. He smells like grass after a storm. He smells all alpha. Dean wants him in a way that is painful. 

“Dean,” Cas says, like he’s surprised to see him. 

“Uh, come in,” Dean says, opening the door wider for him. 

Castiel enters, looking around at Dean’s place unabashedly. Dean tries to see it through a stranger’s eyes and blushes. He’s back to band posters on the walls and, despite his efforts, everything is still kind of a mess. 

“I like your place,” Castiel says. 

Dean can’t take his eyes off him. “Thank you,” he says. 

Castiel takes off his jacket, folding it carefully over the back of the couch; he slithers the tie out of his collar and lays it over the blazer. He rolls up the sleeves on his white button-up. Dean’s mouth goes dry. 

“You missed me?” Castiel says. 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. 

Castiel stares at him, almost glaring, like he’s trying to grab on to Dean’s soul and inspect it. Dean wonders what Castiel is seeing inside of him. 

“Crowley has, strangely enough, kept his knowledge to himself,” Castiel says. 

“Oh. Good. I guess.” 

“At the picnic last month, they asked after you. Abaddon and Tran and Fitzgerald.” 

“Abaddon,” Dean repeats, shuddering. 

“I don’t believe her motives are entirely pure, but Tran and Fitz showed a legitimate interest.” 

“Yeah, they seemed cool.” Dean bites his lip. “What did you tell them?” 

Castiel swallows, says, “That we were taking a break.” 

Just a break. Not a _break-up._

“I’d like you to come back,” Castiel says. 

“I -- really?” 

“I apologize for the way I treated you. It… wasn’t right.” 

“It’s ok,” Dean says, as if he hasn’t spent the last handful of months trying to drink away the rejection. 

“Come home,” Cas says. He’s still looking at Dean in that way he does, like he’s seeking something, like he can’t look away. 

Dean hardly has to think at all before he says, “Ok.” 

 

Castiel’s house is unchanged. There are no dishes in the sink and no food in the fridge and the remote controls are lined up perfectly on the coffee table. The bed is made in Dean’s room. Castiel leads him through the house like he’s giving a second tour, and Dean just drinks everything in. The artwork is more striking than he remembers, the colors bright and vivid. Castiel’s bedroom is dark and the bed has been moved to a corner, a nest created out of extra blankets and too many pillows. Dean glances at him but doesn’t say anything about it. 

Just like that first day, Dean makes a grocery list. Just like the first day, Castiel can’t read all of his handwriting. Just like the first day, Castiel mostly leaves Dean alone to reacquaint himself with the house.

The next evening, Cas joins Dean in making dinner. He’s much more adept with a knife and more comfortable with the other utensils and machines. “I took a class,” he says, looking embarrassed. 

“But you still don’t cook for yourself.” 

“Cooking for one is… not ideal.” 

Dean gives him the tiniest smile. “But you’ve got skills now.” 

“Yes, I suppose so.” 

While waiting for the oven timer to go off, Dean leans against the counter and takes in Castiel: a short sleeve t-shirt that shows off the ends of the tattoos on the back of his arms; jeans that look suspiciously like a pair Dean used to have and are a little too loose at the hips, occasionally showing off a slice of Castiel’s belly when he reaches to the top cabinets. He is beautiful. 

“So,” Dean starts, awkwardly. “What have you been up to?” 

“Working.” Castiel gives a wry smile. “As usual.” 

“Me too,” Dean says.

“You blocked me.” 

“Yeah. I -- I couldn’t -- I don’t know, man. I just couldn’t.” 

“I understand.” 

“Hey,” Dean says, “are you King of Hell? With a one for the ‘i’?” 

“What?” 

“Do you have a new username? King of Hell?” 

“No. I’ve respected your wishes.” 

Because Dean hates himself, he asks, “Did you think about finding someone else? To be your… whatever I am?” 

“No,” Castiel says, firmly. 

“Oh.” 

Castiel steps closer, almost touching, and says, “Can I…?” 

Dean thinks he’s going to ask to kiss him, and he says, “Yes, please,” breathless, but Castiel just steps close and nudges his nose into the place where Dean’s shoulder meets his neck, and Dean can feel him inhaling, scenting up the tendon to the side of his throat. 

Cas murmurs, “I missed you.” 

Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. 

Castiel, so gently, leaves a kiss just under Dean’s ear and steps back. The oven goes off. The moment is broken. Dean pulls out the casserole they made together. They eat in silence.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know you --” Cas bites his lip. “I know you used to drink.”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” Dean says._
> 
> _“A lot?”_
> 
> _“Yeah.”_
> 
> _“Breaking the bond was hard.”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” Dean says, and pushes closer, his face in Castiel’s neck, something terrible and terrifying rising up inside him. “Don’t go, Cas, don’t go.”_

“We’ll need to set up the ACH to your account again,” Castiel says while they change for bed. They turn away from each other, even though Dean is still dying with curiosity about Castiel’s tattoo. 

“I -- what?” 

“Would you prefer a check?” 

“No, I just thought…” Dean’s voice fades. “Ok. I’ll get you the info.” 

They crawl into bed together, then just lay apart, looking. There’s hardly any light but Dean can make out the silhouette of Cas’s face, his perfect nose, his perfect jawline. Dean wonders what Cas sees when he looks at him. 

“Can I touch you?” Cas asks, hesitant like there would be any answer other than yes. 

“Of course,” Dean says. 

Cas scoots closer to him, then tucks his head under Dean’s chin and slings his arm around his middle, hand flat just below his shoulder blades. Dean’s face is in Castiel’s hair and he tries to scent him without being too obvious about it, but he can feel Cas inhaling along his neck, too, mouth touching but not kissing, just pressing as close as possible. Dean can feel Cas’s heartbeat all around him. 

He’s never slept better. 

 

One thing about living away from Castiel: sleeping in. Castiel’s alarm goes off at a god-awful time in the morning, so early it’s practically still the night before, and he snoozes and snoozes until Dean thinks he’s going to go insane. 

“Goddammit, Cas,” he says, grabbing the phone and turning off the alarm. “You’re still doing this shit?” 

“Someone’s grumpy,” Cas mutters, pulling a pillow over his head. 

“Are you running today? Because you better hurry up or you’ll be late.” 

“Nghhh,” Cas says, or something like it. 

Dean grabs the pillow and wrestles it away from Cas Underneath, Cas is disheveled and cranky and the most perfect thing Dean has ever seen. Still making his best bitch face, Cas slides his hand down his body to scratch at his belly, his shirt riding up so Dean gets a fantastic view of hipbones and the line of hair running down into his boxers. Dean’s glad there’s no morning wood today; he doesn’t know if he could help himself from touching. 

“How do you want your eggs?” Dean asks. Sometimes the promise of food will rouse Castiel, and today is no different: he squints open his eyes, arches his back in a way that leaves Dean’s mouth dry, stretches his arms out and pops his elbows. 

“Over easy,” Castiel says, still whining a little. 

Dean has to crawl over him to get out of the bed, and it puts his face so close to Cas’s that it’s almost impossible to keep from leaving a kiss there, just a quick simple one, but Dean keeps moving. 

Breakfast is just like always. Cas is mostly quiet and a little grumpy until midway through his second cup of coffee, though Dean perks up not too long after starting his first. Dean does the dishes while Castiel showers and changes into his suit uniform. 

“Wait,” Dean says as Cas is on his way out the door. Cas stops mid-step and turns to him. “Your tie is backwards.” 

Cas looks down and makes a “hmph” face.

“I’ll fix it,” Dean says. He undoes the knot, turns it the right way, and reknots it perfectly, better than Cas ever does. 

“Thank you,” Cas says, staring at Dean. 

“I know how to tie a tie,” Dean says. 

“Obviously.” 

Before Dean can turn away, Cas grabs his hand, pulls him stumbling forward, and presses his nose against Dean’s neck. “Just need to scent you,” he says. 

Dean rubs his cheek along Cas’s temple. He doesn’t need to get close to smell nothing but Cas; this house is full of him, everything he has touched, including Dean. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says, pulling away with regret. Dean smiles. Castiel smiles back. “I’ll be home by seven tonight,” he says. 

“I was thinking fried shrimp,” Dean says. 

“With the coconut?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Wonderful.” 

They smile at each other for a moment longer, and then Castiel is gone. 

 

Being back at Castiel’s feels like being back at home. After cleaning up breakfast, Dean crawls back into their bed to cover himself in the smell of Cas, the smell of their nest. He wonders if Cas can smell him all over the sheets, too. 

Dean doesn’t usually jerk off by himself -- he does it enough on camera to be kind of put off by the whole thing -- but in their bed, he lets himself imagine Cas above him, lets himself slide a hand over his chest and imagine Cas’s hand, lets himself wrap a fist around his cock and stroke until it’s hard, lets himself slide two fingers in his hole when it’s wet enough, lets himself come biting his lip with Cas’s name on his breath. 

He feels a little ashamed after he cleans up. He hopes Cas won’t be able to smell it, the cloying scent of sex in the room, but that’s kind of a pipe dream -- alphas are made to sense things like that, and with a scent bond strengthening their connection… Cas will probably know as soon as he walks in the house. 

Dean decides not to think about that for now, and curls up in the covers for a come-drunk nap. 

 

When Dean wakes up, he’s shaking. It only gets worse as the day goes on, and then there’s a pounding headache to go with it, and nausea, and he finds himself over the toilet puking up breakfast, then dry heaving himself into exhaustion. 

He manages to get himself back into bed and turns on Netflix on his phone, but all he does is toss and turn and ignore the tinny voices, every now and then jumping up to dry heave over the toilet some more. He tries to take some Tylenol and drink some water, but he pukes that up, too. 

By the time Cas comes home, he’s dizzy and the tremors are all over his body and he’s having trouble focusing. 

“Dean!” Castiel says, dropping his briefcase on the floor in the bedroom doorway and rushing to his side. “Are you ok?!” 

“Do I look ok?” Dean says, a hand over his belly. He’s pulled the curtains and turned off the lights to try to lessen the pounding headache to no avail. 

“Are you sick? What’s going on?” 

“I guess,” Dean says, then rushes to the bathroom to vomit nothing but bile. 

Castiel follows, bringing a glass of water, wetting a washcloth to gently wipe Dean’s mouth. He kneels next to Dean in his fancy suit and holds a hand against his forehead to check for a fever. “I don’t think you have a fever,” he says. 

“Thanks, doctor,” Dean says. He’s aware he’s being a jerk but is too sick and tired to care. 

Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s sweat-soaked hair and says, “Do you think we can take you back to bed now? Are you done vomiting?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He tries to stand on his own but nearly falls face-first into the tub. Castiel grabs him at the last moment and supports his weight back to the nest. Castiel is stronger than he looks. 

“Will you be ok if I go order you some soup? I’ll be right back,” Cas says. 

“I’ve been ok all day.” 

“Chicken noodle?” 

“Yeah, whatever is good. Just going to puke it up anyway.” 

Castiel gives him half a smile before leaving the room. Dean hears him on the phone, ordering food for delivery, and then Cas is back at Dean’s side. He puts his palm on Dean’s cheek and Dean opens his eyes to see Castiel’s concerned ones. 

“I’ll be fine,” Dean says, “just the flu or something.” 

“I’m going to change real quick.” 

Dean can barely keep his eyes open, but during a slow blink, he catches sight of Castiel’s bare back. Two wings: one full and glorious and a black beauty of lush feathers; the other, a broken thing, all fire and ash. 

Before Cas turns back around, Dean closes his eyes again, but he can’t stop picturing the tattoos. Cas isn’t the kind of person to just get his body permanently changed for aesthetic. It must mean something, but Dean has no idea what. He might know all of Castiel’s expressions and habits and vices, but he knows so little _about_ him. 

Dean pukes up the soup, and the next day is worse, the shaking so bad he can barely stand. Still no fever, but he feels delirious, like he’s not even sure he can remember his own name, and more than once he wakes up in his and Cas’s bed without knowing where he is. More than once he tries to get up for a cam show and then remembers all of his equipment is back at his apartment. Most of the times he wakes up, Cas is hovering near the bed, ready with painkillers and water and soup and soft comfort touches. 

Day three is still worse, and Dean is starting to get anxious and paranoid, schemes around every corner, bad dreams haunting him. Most of his dreams try to convince him that Sam is dead just like their mother, that John was beating Sam the way he beat Dean (though John, too, has been gone from their lives for years), that Dean has failed Sam. The last one is probably true. 

“Dean,” Castiel says. “I have to ask you something.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. Cas is wrapped around him in bed, pillowing Dean’s head on his chest, stroking his hair. It’s the best thing Dean has felt in days. 

“I know you --” Cas bites his lip. “I know you used to drink.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“A lot?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Breaking the bond was hard.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and pushes closer, his face in Castiel’s neck, something terrible and terrifying rising up inside him. “Don’t go, Cas, don’t go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas says. Dean grips Cas a little less tightly. “But I think you might be going through withdrawals.” 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Dean says, a line he has repeated so many times, it’s become rote, just another lie he tells. 

“I didn’t say… Dean,” Cas says, tipping Dean’s chin up to meet his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Dean can’t look Castiel in the eye for this conversation. He struggles with what to say, comes up with nothing. His thoughts are swimming circles around him like sharks, waiting to bite. 

“Alcohol withdrawal can be dangerous,” Castiel says. 

“It’s not like I was doing heroin or something!” 

“ _It’s ok,_ ” Cas repeats. “Just be honest with me.” 

“Why? So you can -- so you can kick me out again?” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, deep alpha voice, pulling Dean out of his frenzied mind. “ _I’m not going anywhere_. I just need to know how to take care of you.” 

Dean closes his eyes. He’s so tired, and dizzy, and his body feels like it’s tearing itself apart. “Jack,” he says. 

“No, Dean, it’s Cas,” Castiel says, the first time he has ever referred to himself that way, sounding even more worried.

“No, I mean -- Jack Daniels.” 

Dean feels Castiel nod against the top of his head. 

“Just to get me through the shows,” Dean says. What he does not say is: _Just to get through without you._

Castiel rubs his hand up and down Dean’s back, more comforting touches that Dean doesn’t deserve. “It shouldn’t last too much longer,” he says. 

“That’s what Charlie said about the scent bond, and look…” Dean gestures between them the best he can, pressed up to Cas. 

Castiel leans down and kisses Dean’s forehead. “Who’s Charlie?” 

Dean tries to concentrate on an image of her like he could telepath it to Castiel. “My best friend,” he mumbles. 

“An alpha?” Cas asks carefully.

“No, beta. Total lesbian. She LARPs.” 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“It’s… Cas, I’m real tired. Just want to sleep.” 

“Ok, sweetheart. Sleep. I’m going to try to get some work done, so--” 

“Can’t you use your laptop in here?” 

“I don’t want to keep you up.” 

“Please,” Dean says, being pathetic, but he doesn’t know what he’ll do without his alpha, even if he’s only a room away. 

Castiel gets up, presses another kiss to Dean’s forehead, and leaves the room. Dean is momentarily panicked that he won’t come back -- won’t _ever_ come back -- but then Cas _is_ back, computer in hand. 

Dean shoves himself to the other side of the bed to make room for Castiel. He falls asleep to the click-clacking of keys.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You drink_ smoothies _?” Sure, Dean cooks vegetables to go with their meals, and he buys fruit to go with breakfast, but he didn’t really expect something so Sam to come out of Castiel’s mouth._
> 
> _“Is there something wrong with smoothies?”_
> 
> _“I mean…” Dean used to keep quiet about this kind of thing, afraid to lose out on his income, but things are different now. “Yes, there is something wrong with smoothies.”_

It’s over two weeks before Dean can get out of bed without stumbling, without needing Cas’s assistance to make it anywhere further than the bathroom and back. It’s over two weeks of wondering why he ever took a drink in the first place, remembering back to that first shot of whiskey stolen from Johnny W when he was twelve. It’s over two weeks of wondering why anyone would ever put up with this disaster of a person Dean has become. 

Castiel runs baths for him and brings him easy-to-digest food and touches him so gently and doesn’t go into the office the entire time, though he’s typing away on his computer or phone most of the time while Dean sleeps. 

The DTs finally start to fade, and Dean manages to wake up before dawn to make Cas breakfast while Cas keeps snoring. Once the coffee is brewing and the eggs are scrambled and the bagels are cream cheesed, Dean shakes Castiel’s shoulder. “Wake up,” he says. 

Castiel’s eyes, so blue even in the dim morning light, blink up at him. “Are you ok?” 

“Yeah. Made breakfast for you.” 

“Scrambled?” 

Dean grins. “Yup.” 

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Cas says. 

Dean is so hungry he could eat a horse, so he stuffs himself with four eggs and a bagel. “Be careful or you’ll be puking again,” Castiel warns him, but he is smiling. “I’m glad you feel better.” 

“Still not great,” Dean says, “but better. Are you going into the office today?” 

Castiel tilts his head, looking at Dean. “I don’t think so. Just in case.” 

Dean stabs at the tiniest flake of egg on his plate. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.” 

“I’m the boss. There’s no one to get in trouble with except myself.” 

“Good point.” 

“I’ll do the dishes. I think you should rest more.” 

“Can I at least rest on the couch so I don’t die of boredom?” Dean says.

“Yes. We still have to finish Seyit and Sura.” 

“Dude, you know I hate that subtitled bullshit.” 

“You watched ten episodes with me!” 

“And I hated every one.” 

Castiel stares at Dean for a long moment, then laughs, tilting his head back and holding on to his stomach. “How many other things have you done because you think I want you to?” 

“Mostly just that,” Dean grumbles. “Stop laughing.” 

“I guess we’ll be watching Top Chef. I’ve been recording the new season for you.” 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks.” 

Dean ends up sleeping away the morning and into the afternoon with his head pillowed on Castiel’s lap. 

 

Things go back to normal. Cas comes home earlier, though he still works late into the night after dinner; they stay so close at night, Dean’s not always sure which parts are his own and which parts are Castiel’s; there are so many times Dean almost kisses him but stops himself. Sometimes he thinks Cas is battling the same war, but Cas can be so good at hiding. 

“Happy hour next week,” Cas says, sighing. He looks at Dean, who is wearing a shirt with a hole at the belly (a smile hole!) and light-colored, soft jeans. “You need more clothes.” 

Dean pouts. “You like my clothes.” 

“I do. But with work there are certain… standards… to withhold. I have to wear a uniform, too.” 

This is true: once home from work, Cas immediately changes out of his suit and into t-shirt and jeans or flannel pants, so it’s not like he loves dressing like a stiff. 

“Fine,” Dean says, “I’ll go to the store tomorrow.” 

“I thought I’d go with you. I ruined a shirt with a smoothie last week.” 

“You drink _smoothies_?” Sure, Dean cooks vegetables to go with their meals, and he buys fruit to go with breakfast, but he didn’t really expect something so _Sam_ to come out of Castiel’s mouth. 

“Is there something wrong with smoothies?” 

“I mean…” Dean used to keep quiet about this kind of thing, afraid to lose out on his income, but things are different now. “Yes, there is something wrong with smoothies.” 

“And that is?” 

“Next you’ll be telling me you go to _juice bars_ or some shit.” 

“JuiceLand is my favorite.” 

“I don’t even know you,” Dean says. Cas laughs. Dean loves to make him laugh. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of becoming a vegan. Last time I talked to Sam, he was getting involved in this whole animal rights thing--” 

“Who’s Sam?” 

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “I haven’t told you about Sam? I have to have told you about Sam.” Except he hadn’t told Cas anything before they “took a break.” Mixing business and emotional intimacy is never a good idea -- that’s probably still true, but Dean has stopped caring about how bad it’ll be when he and Cas separate again. “Sam’s my little brother.” 

“Are you close?” 

“Yeah. I mean, things have been different since he left for school, but he’s -- I’m so proud of him, Cas, he’s going to be a lawyer.” 

“Tell me about him.” 

Sam is Dean’s favorite thing to talk about, other than the Impala, so he talks Cas’s ear off for nearly half an hour, pausing every now and then for Cas to ask questions and clarifications, and in the end Dean is just sharing stories from their childhood that would embarrass the hell out of Sam if he knew, and Cas is laughing with his nose crinkled and his eyes squinting and his head thrown back. Dean scoots closer on the couch and grabs his hand, weaving their fingers together between them. Cas looks down, surprised, and glances up at Dean with guarded eyes. 

“This ok?” Dean says. 

“Yes.” Cas squeezes his hand for emphasis. 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” 

Abruptly, Cas pulls his hand away. “Let’s talk about something else.” 

 

For once, Cas lets Dean drive them to the store. This is Cas’s first time in Baby and Dean tries to make it good, tossing the stray books from the front seat into the back, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. The sky is gorgeous -- Texas never disappoints -- and winding the way through the Hill Country feels better than driving back in Lawrence, when it was all I-70 on flat plains. 

Castiel hums appreciatively when he climbs in the car, though Dean thinks it’s for his benefit more than an actual appreciation for the perfect machine Cas is about to experience first-hand. 

They pull into the parking lot too soon. Dean parks Baby near the back, convinced this will lessen the chance of door dings on the flawless paint job, and Cas laughs at him for it. Dean doesn’t mind at all. 

Dean and Cas browse aimlessly through the kitchen department. Dean makes the mistake of pointing out a few things he wishes he had and Cas grabs them instantly to add to their cart. They keep browsing through the bedding department and Dean doesn’t say anything about the sheets that would feel perfect on their new nest of a bed. 

When they arrive at the clothing, Cas is on a mission. First he finds an identical shirt to the one he ruined with the smoothie. “Hey,” Dean says, pointing at a red leather jacket. “That would look amazing on you.” 

Cas tilts his head in that funny way of his. “You think?” 

“It’s sexy as fuck,” Dean says. 

One of the saleswomen looks up at Dean and frowns from several racks away. 

“I guess I could try it on,” Cas says. “But you have to try on whatever I say now.” 

“Oh, really? Well, I already have a leather jacket, so that’s out the window.” 

“I’ll come up with something,” Cas says. He has his mischievous look on, eyes sparkling. Dean wonders how he ever thought Cas was expressionless. “Oh, I know! We’ll hit shoes on the way out.” 

“You aren’t going to make me try on some heels or something, are you?” 

“No, though that would be a sight,” Cas says, laughing. 

Cas has Dean try on practically the whole store’s worth of dress shirts and nice jeans and slacks (slacks!) and picks out a wardrobe’s worth. “I’m never going to wear all this stuff,” Dean grumbles. Mostly he’s just upset at the amount of money about to be spent, though he’s sure Cas will try to pay. 

“You can’t show up to my work stuff in the same two shirts,” Cas says. “Plus, you look handsome in them.” 

Dean preens a little, walking proud next to Cas. A few alphas -- and even a beta or two -- sniff at Dean curiously as the pair walks by, but immediately turn away after a quick whiff. Dean catches Cas glaring. “Jealous?” Dean says. 

“No,” Cas growls.

Cas leads Dean to the men’s shoe section by the hand. “You need a pair of Oxfords,” he says. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little overkill?” 

Cas fixes him with a withering stare. “I’m _buying_ the jacket. The least you could do is try on a pair of nice shoes. Humor me.” 

The shoes they pick out are a dark brown leather, and even Dean can admit they are beautiful. They are surprisingly comfortable, too. “Strange how that happens when you’re not buying Target brand,” Cas teases. Dean goes silent and Cas notices immediately. “I’m just teasing,” he says, stepping close to Dean so their conversation is private. He slides his arms around Dean’s waist and looks up into his eyes. “Don’t be upset.” 

“I didn’t grow up like you,” Dean says. 

Cas laughs. “You think I grew up like this? Richie rich? Hardly. It’s true that we didn’t want for much, but my brother and I shared a bedroom.” 

“Sam and I shared a car sometimes,” Dean says. He’s not sure why he’s getting vulnerable in the middle of a goddamn department store, but Cas makes him do crazy things, say crazy things. 

Cas’s eyes darken. “Your parents…” 

“Dad was on a bender most of the time.” 

Cas clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound pitying the way most people do when they hear about Dean’s shitty childhood. He sounds angry. 

After a moment, Cas relaxes -- Dean can see the process of him forcing it -- and says, “Let’s buy the shoes.” 

Dean agrees, if for no other reason to make Cas smile.

Before stepping away, Cas nuzzles his face into Dean’s neck, breathing him in. Even a quick scent like this one is more intimate than a kiss and not usually done in public, so Dean is blushing when Cas pulls back. “Sorry,” Cas says, “had to.” 

“It’s ok,” Dean says, and he means it. 

Dean argues, but Castiel insists on paying. Dean lets him only because he doesn’t want to make a scene in this fancy store with a salesperson staring at the two of them. At first she said they were cute together, but she seems to be rethinking her assessment as they bicker. 

Back at the house -- Dean doesn’t let himself think of it as _home_ , already made that mistake once -- they put on fashion shows for each other. Dean is mostly just enjoying the sight of Cas unbuttoning shirts and shrugging out of them. Even though he wears a white tank underneath, the sight of his shoulders and collarbones and that beautiful smooth area just below them has Dean staring with dark eyes. He wants to cover each and every inch with his mouth. 

So it’s not Dean’s fault if he kind of makes a show of it, undressing in front of Cas, revealing his skin slowly and with purpose. Cas doesn’t disappoint: his laser eyes stay on Dean and he bites his lip and shifts on the couch as Dean carefully hangs up one shirt before pulling on the next. 

“That one,” Cas says at an emerald green shirt that is especially soft to the touch. “You should wear that one.” 

Cas gets up, and Dean can’t help glancing downwards to see Cas’s dick half-hard in his jeans. “Like what you see?” Dean says. He is going for cocky, but it comes out a little breathless instead. 

“Very much,” Cas agrees. He puts his hands on Dean’s hips and Dean thinks for sure Cas is going to kiss him. Dean licks his lips in anticipation and watches Cas with hooded eyes. 

But of course, Cas doesn’t kiss him, because Cas is an evil bastard and Dean hates him. Instead, Cas nuzzles along Dean’s clothed shoulder, leaving a kiss just over the end of his collarbone. Dean can barely feel it through the shirt but it thrills him all the same.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Most of Cas’s coworkers shake Dean’s hand politely, but Garth Fitzgerald -- the fourth, he always clarifies -- shakes Dean’s hand so eagerly, Dean thinks his arm might be ripped off. “I love your work,” he says, grinning. “Your, uh, buildings, I mean.”_
> 
> _“Oh?” Kevin Tran says, hopping into the conversation. “Any I would know?”_
> 
> _“I mostly just do private homes,” Dean says, “probably nothing you’ve seen.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a handful of chapters ahead so I can proofread with a clearer eye, and I just hit 30k, so here's another chapter to celebrate!

Dean promises himself -- and Cas -- that he’ll stick to beer at the bar. Beer has never been a problem for Dean, not a gateway like for some people, and he’s ready to deny himself the whiskey bottles he’ll see behind the bartop. He’s ready to be good for Cas. 

Most of Cas’s coworkers shake Dean’s hand politely, but Garth Fitzgerald -- the fourth, he always clarifies -- shakes Dean’s hand so eagerly, Dean thinks his arm might be ripped off. “I love your work,” he says, grinning. “Your, uh, buildings, I mean.” 

“Oh?” Kevin Tran says, hopping into the conversation. “Any I would know?” 

“I mostly just do private homes,” Dean says, “probably nothing you’ve seen.” 

Dean is glad to see that Abaddon hasn’t showed and there’s no sign of Crowley. Dean offers to hit the bar for their drinks. “I think they have ABW on tap here,” Cas says. “Just get me something good.” 

It’s while he’s watching the bartender pour into a tipped glass that Crowley sidles up next to him, a snake in the grass. “Good to see you again, Deany,” he says. “In person, I mean.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Good to see you again, too, Fergus.” 

“I’ve been watching,” Crowley says. “Quite a nice show you put on.” 

Dean’s heart pounds in his ears. “Well, stop,” he says. 

Before Crowley can reply, Castiel shows up at Dean’s side. His eyes are a hurricane; he stands tall and if he were a bird, his wings would be raised high above his head, aggressive posturing. “Don’t speak to him,” Castiel says, voice cold. “Don’t even look at him.” 

Crowley laughs. “Oooh, impressive alpha here to save the day.” Crowley lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and Dean cringes. “We were just talking a little business.” 

“If you touch him again,” Cas says, “ _I will end you._ ” 

Crowley laughs, but as soon as he gets his drink, he slithers off to the table. 

“We should go,” Cas says. 

Dean’s heart is still pounding. “Yeah,” he says, trying to play it cool. 

“Let me say goodbye and then we’ll get out of here.” 

Dean follows, intent on being at least a little polite before they skip out on an obligation, and Tran and Fitzgerald shake his hand enthusiastically again. Fitzgerald is a beta, so Dean is surprised that he might be watching shows on Omega Live, but he knows that Garth won’t say anything about it. It’s just a good feeling Dean has about the guy. 

Dean drove them in the Impala, and the comfort of the deep leather smell of the seats, the smell of old books picked up at Goodwills from Austin to Kansas and back, the smell of greasy french fries and bacon-laden burgers, slows his heart. 

Buckled in and leaving the parking lot, Castiel says, “I’ll kill him.” 

Dean scoffs but Cas looks completely serious. “Man, I don’t think conjugal visits are a real thing.” 

Cas nods. “I can at least have him fired. If he says anything to anyone. I can end his career.” 

“Smarmy bastard,” Dean says. 

Quiet most of the way home. “Dean,” Cas says, “I’m sorry I butted in like a stereotypical alpha. I know you can take care of yourself.” 

“To be honest,” Dean says, giving Cas a little grin, “it was kind of hot.” 

 

In bed, Dean wraps himself around Cas, Cas’s back to his chest. He slings an arm over Castiel’s stomach and slides one of his legs between Cas’s. He puts his hand flat over Castiel’s heart to feel the bu-bump, bu-bump. He presses his face into Cas’s unruly hair to smell him underneath the shampoo he uses. It’s so good, so perfect, and Dean doesn’t want anything else out of life. 

It’s Dean that wakes up with a hard-on in the middle of the night, mid-dream about Cas’s hands and eyes and body. He’s only jerked off that one time since he came back home, hasn’t done any shows, and his dick is so hard it’s aching. 

He starts to pull away from Cas but Cas grabs his arm and grunts. “Gotta piss,” Dean says, and Cas lets go of him. 

Dean stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. He’s sleepy-eyed and his hair is sticking up on one side. Double-checking that the door is locked, he slides his sweatpants down his hips until his cock springs free. It’s flushed with blood, clear liquid oozing out the tip, and Dean gasps when he wraps a hand around it. 

He checks the door for a third time. The worst thing in the world would be for Cas to walk in on him desperately jerking off over the bathroom sink. But he does it anyway, pulling at his cock without any finesse, just the quick-and-dirty release he needs. At some point he grabs hold of the counter with his free hand to hold him up, and when he comes, some of it splashes up onto the mirror. “Fuck,” he mutters, quickly cleaning up the mess with toilet paper and then one of those bleach wipes from under the sink. 

He uses the toilet and flushes, just in case Cas is listening, then pulls his sweatpants back over his softened dick before heading back to bed. 

Cas has scooted over to Dean’s side of the bed, face pressed into Dean’s pillow and arm outstretched. “Move,” Dean says, shoving at Cas. 

“You were in there a long time,” Cas says, still half-asleep. 

“It’s fine,” Dean says. He wraps around Cas again. Cas grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. Dean settles with his face back in Cas’s hair, nuzzling against the nape of his neck. 

“You were touching yourself in there,” Cas mutters. 

Dean stills. 

“Can smell it on you.” 

“Cas, I --”

“‘s ok,” Cas says, and he sighs back into sleep. 

Dean just hopes he won’t remember the exchange in the morning. 

 

Now Cas scents Dean every morning before work, pulling him into a tight embrace with his nose pressed against Dean’s neck. One morning, Dean ventures, “Do I, um -- what do I smell like?” 

“Leather and books,” Cas says. He’s rubbing his check against Dean’s neck, like a cat marking its property. 

“I meant -- do I smell like happy omega still?” 

Cas’s smile radiates off him like the sun. “Yes.” 

“You smell like spring,” Dean says, “like the air just before a tornado.” 

“Happy alpha?” 

“Yeah.” 

Castiel smiles wider still and leaves the smallest kiss on Dean’s neck before he leaves. 

 

On the phone, Sam says, “You sound better. Sober.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“And you’re back with the scent bond guy. I can basically smell it on you from across the country, you fucking sap.” 

“Yeah, we’re… doing good. Real good.” 

“You have to be careful with alphas, Dean. If you -- god, this is gross, but if he knots you, the bond will be even deeper --” 

“We haven’t done that,” Dean says. “Are you doing that with Jess?” 

“Jess and I are different.” 

“Betas form bonds, too.” 

“Jess and I are talking about getting married. Kids.” 

“I knew you were after the white picket fence thing,” Dean says. 

“You’d be right. We’re getting a dog. And someday you’re going to be an uncle with so many nieces and nephews, you don’t even know what to do with them.” 

Dean laughs. He’s overjoyed to hear Sam so happy, to hear Sam in love. It’s all he ever wanted for his little brother. “Look, I’ve got to go -- Cas will be here soon -- but it’s real good to talk to you, Sammy. We don’t talk enough.” 

“You know how school is. It’s just so goddamn much, it’s almost impossible to keep up with. I only get to see Jess because we’re in some of the same classes so we can study together.” 

“I know. You don’t have to make excuses. I’m glad you’re happy. Just text me sometimes, you know? I miss you and your stupid bitchface.” 

“I miss your stupid jerk face,” Sam says. They laugh together. 

Cas walks in just as they are hanging up. “Sam?” he says. Dean nods and takes Cas’s coat. 

It’s only after he meets Cas in the kitchen that he sees the expression on his face -- an expression Dean has never seen on him before, absolutely furious. Dean’s eyes widen and he shrinks underneath it. “Did I… did I do something wrong?” Dean asks, hating how meek he sounds. 

“No,” Cas says, but he doesn’t sound any less livid. 

“You’re angry.” 

“Fergus has been talking,” Cas says. “I heard from my assistant that he’s telling people you’re a whore I’ve purchased.” 

It’s kind of true, Dean thinks, but that doesn’t mean either of them want Crowley spreading it around. Dean swallows. “What are you going to do?” 

“Talk to HR first thing in the morning. I may be the CFO, but I can’t just fire people at a whim. I have to make a case,” Cas says, “but I can get him for sexual harassment. My personal and sexual life is none of his business, and especially not his to spread amongst the other employees.” 

Dean picks at one of his fingernails. “But you don’t want to end it?” 

“No,” Cas says, so adamant that Dean takes a step back. 

“Come back here,” Cas says. “I -- need a hug. If that’s ok.” 

Dean goes to him and wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, squeezing him tight and close. Cas’s hands are almost hesitant to grab at Dean, but when he does, it’s just as tight. He presses his face into Dean’s chest. Dean feels him, so slowly, relax into Dean’s arms. The tension leaves his shoulders, his neck, his back, and then his arms, sliding around to cup Dean’s hips instead of gripping at his back. Dean strokes his hair and waits for Cas to pull away first. 

 

Castiel still works all through the evening, but more and more, he brings his laptop and paperwork to the couch to sit next to Dean while Dean binges the Moaning of Life, It’s Always Sunny, another Dr. Sexy re-watch, the Walking Dead. Dean doesn’t think Cas is paying much attention, but every now and then he’ll look up and make an astute comment about the goings on in the shows. Sometimes they hold hands while Cas scrolls through contracts and reports. It’s not long until they spend every sleeping and waking -- when Cas isn’t in the office -- moment together. 

Dean feels a little guilty for wanting even more from Cas, more than his companionship and money and the sweet nothings he whispers in Dean’s ear sometimes at bedtime, but he thinks a lot about the time they kissed and how it was one of the best kisses he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot. 

“Did you stop camming again?” Cas asks him while they are cuddled on the couch, Cas leaning up against Dean’s side. 

“Oh,” Dean says, “yeah.” 

Cas tilts his head backwards, looking at Dean upside down. “Why?” 

“Just didn’t want to -- I don’t know. It didn’t feel right. Doing things for other alphas. Plus… Crowley was watching.” 

Cas twists around so he can face Dean head on. “You don’t have to stop because of me.” 

“It just doesn’t feel right.” 

Cas leans his head on Dean’s shoulder, still inspecting him. 

Quietly, blushing, Dean says, “I would do a show for you.” 

He watches the movement of Cas’s adam’s apple as he gulps. “I don’t think that would be wise.” 

“Don’t even need the cam,” Dean says. 

“I don’t think I could help myself…”

“What, Cas? What would you do?” 

“Touch you.” 

“What if I wanted you to?” Dean expects Cas to pull away, put distance between them, but he just looks down, head not leaving Dean’s shoulder. 

“Dean,” he starts, then pauses. “I pay you for one thing, and I don’t want --” 

“I know the difference between pleasure and business,” Dean says. “You touching me? I’d do that for free.” 

Cas takes Dean’s hand and plays with his fingers, presses his palm against Dean’s, finally weaves their fingers together and holds tight. 

“I’ll probably go into heat again,” Dean says. “Soon.” 

“I know,” Cas says softly. 

“I want you to have it. My heat.” 

Cas’s eyes jerk up to Dean’s again, then his mouth, then back to his eyes. “Dean,” he says. 

Dean uses his free hand to stroke the side of Cas’s face, fingertips grazing over the curve of his ear. “C’mon, Cas. Say yes.” 

“Yes,” Cas says at last. 

The omega inside Dean sings with joy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, Dean,” Cas says, and scents his way up Dean’s neck. “You’re -- you’re --”_
> 
> _“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says, “I am.”_
> 
> _“Mmmm,” Cas says. His tongue slips out to taste Dean’s neck, the sweat-salt of him. “My omega,” he murmurs._

It’s a few weeks before Dean goes into heat. In the meantime, things just stay as they are -- hands touching, scenting each other, holding each other at night, dinners and tv marathons and grumpy mornings. 

The heat hits Dean hard this time. He wakes up in the middle of the night, the sheets damp underneath him from sweat (and probably slick, but he doesn’t want to think about that). He untangles himself from Cas and gets up, changing into a dry t-shirt and searching through his drawer for a pair of heatbriefs. They are uncomfortable and make him feel like he’s wearing a diaper sewn into a pair of boxers, but it’s the only option he has. 

Cleaned up, he crawls back into bed. Cas rolls over to press his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, Dean,” he says, and scents his way up Dean’s neck. “You’re -- you’re --” 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says, “I am.” 

“Mmmm,” Cas says. His tongue slips out to taste Dean’s neck, the sweat-salt of him. “My omega,” he murmurs. 

“Go back to sleep,” Dean says. “It’s not a big deal right now. We can deal with -- this -- in the morning.” 

“Want you now,” Cas mumbles. 

“I don’t think you’re even really awake, babe,” Dean says. It’s the first time he’s called Cas anything other than _Cas_ or _Castiel_ , and the word feels good in his mouth. 

Cas sighs and goes limp again, his face still pressed into Dean’s neck. 

Dean barely sleeps and it seems like eons have passed by the time the alarm clock goes off. Dean turns it off and shakes Cas’s shoulder gently. “Running,” he says. “And I’m…” 

“In heat,” Cas says, eyes suddenly open and bright. “I thought it was a dream.” 

“Well,” Dean says, “it’s not.” His shirt is damp and sticky from the nightsweats, and his cock is hard, and he’s leaking slick just from the look Cas is giving him. “I’m ok for now,” Dean says. “Go running and go to work.” 

“No, I’m using heat leave.” 

“I didn’t think alphas could use that,” Dean says. 

“They can when they are mated.” 

“But we’re not…” Dean trails off, not wanting to take away the look of yearning in Cas’s eyes. “Ok,” he says. “Take your leave.” 

Cas gets out of bed, taking a moment to track his eyes up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in, and then he turns to put on running clothes. Dean gets up to make breakfast. 

Breakfast is a little tense. Dean is trying not to hit his knees right on the kitchen floor, trying not to beg Castiel to fuck him _right now_ , and if he feels this way in the morning of the first day, he can’t imagine how he’s going to feel on day three or four or five. Cas keeps looking at him, nostrils flaring, and then looking down at his plate. 

After the dishes, Dean stands across the kitchen island from Cas. “Do you want me to -- I can do a show for you?” 

“Is that what you want?” 

“Not really,” Dean says. 

“Then what do you want?” 

Dean licks his lips. “I want you to kiss me.” 

Castiel swallows. “Are you sure? Kissing is so -- it’s just --” 

“I know,” Dean says. It’s caring and intimate and the kind of thing mates do, not just fuck-friends or concubines with their masters. He wants it so bad it’s almost a real pain inside him. 

“Let’s go to the nes-- bedroom,” Cas says. 

Dean heads that way first, letting his alpha chase him, and he lays himself out in the bed under Cas’s eyes. He knows Cas can see the tent in his boxers. “Kiss me,” Dean repeats. 

Castiel climbs into the bed and lays next to Dean. They just stare at each other for a long time, mere inches apart, and then Cas nudges forward until their mouths touch. 

It’s an easy and careful kiss, lips parted but no tongue, but it sends heat down Dean’s spine and into his groin all the same. There’s a fresh gush of slick in his underwear and he whimpers. 

Cas reaches up to palm the side of Dean’s face, pulling him closer for another kiss, this one a little harder, a little bit of tongue, but not quite enough to satisfy Dean. He grabs on to Cas’s arm and pushes himself closer until their bodies touch, thighs to chest, and rubs his tongue all along Cas’s, into Cas’s mouth, kitten licks at his teeth. Cas moans and his fingers tighten on the side of Dean’s head. He returns the kiss with the same ferocity that Dean gives it. 

They’re just kissing, but, hips pushed tight against each other, Dean can feel Cas’s cock getting hard against his own. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever felt, and he wishes desperately he was feeling skin-on-skin and not through two layers of clothing. Thinking about skin, Dean’s hand leaves Cas’s arm to slide up under his shirt, feeling tight abdominal muscles and pectorals and up along his sternum. After a moment he tugs at the hem and tries to lift it over Cas’s head while he’s still laying there. 

“Calm down,” Cas says, laughing, and he sits up to take off his shirt. Underneath is a body Dean has seen at least a few times, but it still makes his mouth dry and his head spin. Cas’s skin is tan and endless and perfect. 

“God,” Dean says. 

“Your turn,” Cas says, pushing Dean’s shirt up. 

Shirts discarded, Cas kneels over Dean and kisses him again, hard and owning. Dean can’t get enough. His legs fall open and he tugs at Cas until he’s between them, and then Cas is pressing his hips to Dean’s, rolling so their cocks rub together through their clothing. 

“I can smell you,” Cas whispers. “I want -- fuck, I want everything.” 

Dean loves that he can make Cas lose control, lose his voice, speak in curses. “Me too,” he says. 

Cas’s mouth goes to Dean’s neck. He kisses and licks and bites and it’s not enough, Dean wants him to bite _hard_ , to leave teeth marks and broken skin behind. Castiel’s incisors are dangerously sharp. Dean’s pulse quickens when Cas bites at his shoulder and sucks, but he’s just leaving a bruise mark behind, not a mating bite. It’s better than nothing. 

Dean’s not sure how or when it happens, but Castiel’s mouth is on his nipple, one and then the other, tongue circling then rubbing, and Dean arches up into him, moaning and babbling nothing: “Yeah, baby, yes, like that, please, don’t stop, fuck, fuck, fuck that feels good--” 

“Shhh,” Castiel says against his chest. “I’m going to take such good care of you.” 

Cas moves back up Dean’s body to take his mouth in another kiss, searing hot, all longing and need. “I need you,” Dean whispers. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” 

Cas slides back down his body, leaving kisses as he goes, until he’s at the top of Dean’s boxers. Dean shivers and shudders underneath him, then does it again as Cas rubs his cheek against the hard-on trapped there, then mouths at it, wetting further the spot where pre-come is already leaking through the fabric. “Please, Cas,” Dean says, his voice breaking. 

Too slowly, Castiel peels Dean’s boxers off him. Dean lifts his hips to help, pulls his feet free. Castiel tosses them off the bed, then stops, sitting back on his heels, staring at Dean like he’s never seen him naked before. Like he’s in awe of him. Without thinking about it, Dean reaches down to stroke his own cock a few times, just a loose tease, and Cas licks his lips. 

When Cas speaks, it’s to say, “Turn over. Present for me.” 

Dean’s heart skips a beat. He wants nothing more, but at the same time, he expected Cas to fuck him face-to-face. Just a stupid fantasy about being lovers and not just an alpha fucking an omega during his heat. 

But Dean will put on a show if that’s what Cas wants, so he flips and goes up on hands and knees, arching his back prettily to show off the rounded lines of his ass. He can feel Cas still staring. “C’mon, Cas,” Dean says. 

“Shhh,” Cas says, running a soothing hand down his spine. “Just look at you.” 

“Can’t,” Dean says, falling to his elbows and pressing his face into a pillow that smells like nothing but alpha. 

“It was rhetorical,” Cas says, and only Cas would say something like that in bed. 

Cas’s hands end up on Dean’s ass and he spreads the cheeks gently, inspecting Dean’s leaking hole. Castiel has seen this a million times -- has seen Dean spread himself for a camera -- but Dean still feels self-conscious under his eyes. 

There’s a thumb just barely rubbing over his hole. There’s sharp teeth grazing the globe of one ass cheek, raking downwards, not quite biting. And then there’s a tongue swiping where Cas’s thumb just was, lapping up leaking slick, pushing into Dean while he scrabbles to grip the sheets, crying out.

“You taste…” Cas starts, then goes back to licking at Dean without finishing the sentence, pressing the flat of his tongue over Dean’s hole so Dean can feel the tiny pebbled texture of it, pushing it inside every now and then and _sucking_. 

No one has ever done this for Dean before. Are all alphas like this? So hungry for omegas that they lick them open? If so, Dean should’ve started sleeping with alphas ages ago. 

“Cas,” Dean whines, the name long and drawn-out. 

“Yes, darling?” Cas asks. When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces it with his thumb, sliding it into Dean easily. 

“Fuck me,” Dean says, muffled into the pillow.

“I’m not done yet,” Cas says, and he licks around the thumb knuckle-deep in Dean, sliding his tongue downwards to lick the seam of Dean’s balls and then back to his ass, gently pumping his thumb in and out while his tongue works alongside. 

Dean trembles and pushes back into Cas’s finger and mouth. He thinks he could come just like this, just Cas’s tongue laving away at him. 

Dean is so close -- but not quite there -- when Cas pulls away. Dean turns his head to see Cas, watches him lick his lips and suck slick off his thumb. “Jesus,” Dean whispers. 

Cas gets out of bed to pull off his jeans and Dean doesn’t move, presented like a good omega, face down, ass up. He’s never seen Cas in all his naked glory and he just stares. Cas is tan all over, lithe runner’s muscle everywhere, cock hard and thick and waiting. There’s the beginning of a knot, too, and Dean wonders how Cas has held out this long. Alphas only think with their knots, after all. 

Standing next to the bed, Cas grabs his cock with one hand and slides the other down Dean’s spine again, a comfort touch, not a sexual one. He seems to consider Dean for a long time, just stroking himself lazily, sometimes pausing to massage at his knot. 

Just when Dean thinks he’s going to go insane, Cas says, so quiet in this room filled with nothing but their scents and their breaths, “Turn over.” Cas swallows. Dean has never seen eyes so dark. “Look at you,” Cas says again. 

Dean spreads his legs wide and clenches his hands in the sheets. This waiting game will kill him, he’s sure of it; his heat is spiking and he’s nearly delirious with it. 

When Cas crawls back over Dean and kisses him, Dean can taste himself on Cas’s tongue. It tastes electric. The kiss itself is electric, too, deep and open and a little rough, Cas nipping at Dean’s bottom lip as he pulls away. Dean wants him to draw blood. 

Castiel is between Dean’s legs and he presses his hips down until their cocks rub against each other, pre-come from both of them wetting the way. It’s not what Dean needs, though, and he reaches around to grab Cas’s ass and try to guide him downwards. 

Cas stills. He touches Dean’s face, strokes a thumb over his eyebrow, and then kisses where he just touched. “Are you sure, Dean?” 

“God, yes,” Dean says. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me.” 

Cas laughs, but Dean is too far gone to even care. He grips harder at Cas’s ass, shoves his hips up to meet Cas’s, even if the slide of cock-on-cock is not anywhere near enough. 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean says into Cas’s mouth. 

Cas pulls away, sitting back on his heels again. He grabs Dean’s hips, pulls him upwards, and shoves a pillow underneath him. 

“Going to make a mess,” Dean says, blushing. 

“That’s why God invented washing machines,” Cas says. He smiles at Dean. Dean smiles back. 

And then, slowly and purposefully, Cas slides his perfect thick cock into Dean. 

Cas is bigger than any of the betas (and occasional omega) Dean has been with, so it’s a new kind of stretch, and it’s fucking incredible. Every nerve ending is on fire, he pulls at Cas’s hair, he nips at Cas’s lips, he rocks his hips up to meet Cas’s thrusts. Cas is cool and in control, but there’s a moment where his eyes flutter and he curses and then he’s suddenly all alpha, grabbing Dean’s hands and placing them above his head, their fingers laced together while Cas fucks into him hard and fast. 

Dean can feel Cas’s knot swelling against him, and Dean’s body is begging for it. “Knot me, Cas,” he says, “god, please, knot me.” 

Cas doesn’t say anything, just kisses Dean hard and bruising, then lets go of one hand so he can stroke Dean’s cock, which has left what is practically a puddle on his stomach. Dean reaches back up to Cas’s hair, moaning and crying out and squirming underneath him, the scent of them nearly an attack with every harsh breath. Cas groans and his eyes flutter again and his hand on Dean’s dick quickens. 

“God, like that, don’t stop, I’m going to come, Cas, Cas, Cas, I’m going to--” 

Dean comes with his head thrown back, an alpha cock inside of him, and his hand clenching around Cas’s. Cas keeps stroking him through it until Dean has nothing left to give. His legs are shaking. 

Dean loses track of time, so he’s not sure if it takes awhile for Cas to come or if it happens immediately, he just knows when he feels the hot throb of Cas’s cock, his knot so swollen and ready but not inside Dean’s body. 

Cas doesn’t pull out immediately. He drops his head down so their foreheads press together, breathing hard and in tandem, every inhale full of the scents of sated alpha and omega. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers. His eyes are closed. 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas sounds unsure. “It was ok, right? Did I hurt you?” 

When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him with an intense type of concern. “It was perfect,” Dean whispers. Cas lets go of his hand and slowly pulls out. He’s still hard, knot ready for a mate, and Dean keens to see it. “You didn’t knot me.” 

Cas gives him a little smile and Dean shuts up. The moment is too good to complain. Dean turns on his side so they can tangle together, and kiss, slow and tranquilizing. Dean’s heat has abated, at least for now, so he can kiss without _needing_ , nuzzle their noses together, scent up Cas’s neck. 

“ _You’re_ perfect,” Cas says, as quiet as Dean. 

Dean stares at him. Cas’s eyes are so blue, so lovely, Dean doesn’t ever want to stop looking at them, he wants to lose himself in the planes of Cas’s face, press his lips everywhere, learn the textures of him, the soft skin just under his eyes, the rough stubble around his jaw, the sweet wrinkles on his forehead. Cas stares back like he’s feeling the same thing, like he thinks Dean is something special.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sleep, sweetheart,” Cas says._
> 
> _“Don’t call me that,” Dean mumbles._
> 
> _“I’m sorry, sweetheart, did you say something?” There’s a smirk in Cas’s voice. Dean wants to call him a dick but falls asleep before he gets the chance._

Cas makes them grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner with the good bread and good cheese Dean bought, and Dean devours his without hesitation, even if it’s a little burned, and asks for another, though he is technically the one to cook the second round -- he just lets Cas think he’s in charge. 

While they are standing at the stove, Cas presses up behind Dean and kisses the nape of his neck. They’re both in nothing but sleep pants so Dean can feel miles of Castiel’s skin touching his back. It’s intoxicating.

Dean turns in Cas’s arms and leans forward, then stops himself. “Cas? Can I still kiss you, even when we’re not…?” 

Castiel leans forward and kisses him softly instead of answering. Dean cards his fingers through Cas’s hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. It’s so fucking good, Dean almost burns the sandwiches himself. 

Cas dips his grilled cheese in ketchup, and Dean just kind of stares at him like he’s a rare animal to be studied. “What the everloving fuck are you doing?” 

Cas gestures at the ketchup bottle. “Enjoying my sandwich.” 

“ _Desecrating_ your sandwich.” 

“I like it.” 

“You are a strange human, Castiel Novak.” 

Cas looks like he’s not sure how to take that, but he ends up offering Dean a smile, and when Dean returns it, Cas’s little smile turns into a big grin and Dean is melting in the brightness of it. 

Sandwiches eaten, Cas raises his hand to feel Dean’s cheeks. “How is your heat? You don’t look too flushed.” 

“I’m ok right now,” Dean says. “Probably for a few more hours.” 

“I hate to ask but -- is it ok for me to answer some emails in the meantime?” Cas says, looking properly regretful. 

“On the couch?” 

“Yes.” 

Dean grins again and lets Cas follow him to the living room. Dean tips himself over the back of the couch and lands lengthwise, taking up the whole damn thing. Cas growls at him and ends up with his computer and Dean’s feet in his lap while Dean turns on the tv. 

They make it to “Continue Watching” before heat rises it’s ugly head and Dean starts itching, twitching a little, rubbing his bare foot up and down Cas’s thigh. Cas types furiously, clicks something, and then closes his laptop to look at Dean. “Are you ok?” 

“No,” Dean says, pouting a little. “You’re not touching me.” 

Cas gives him a fond smile and slides one hand up each pant leg, just touching along the hard line of Dean’s shin bone. “I’m touching you now.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Cas shifts to his knees and crawls between the open V of Dean’s legs. He reaches up and pinches one of Dean’s nipples, hard, and Dean whines. “Is that better?” Cas asks. 

“Yes,” Dean says, breath already speeding up, even before Cas leans down and kisses him. 

They kiss for a long time, slow and sensual, Dean running his hands over the muscles in Cas’s back and shoulders and moaning into his mouth. “God,” Dean says in a moment they’ve parted to breathe, “how did I end up with you?” 

Cas kisses his palm, then bends to leave a kiss right over Dean’s heartbeat. Dean shivers. “I don’t know,” Cas says, “but I’m glad you did.” 

 

The second time is no less mind-blowing than the first. Cas undresses Dean on the couch, slides his cock into Dean in one stroke, and fucks him into oblivion, Dean chanting and cursing and garbling praise the whole time until he comes, cock untouched, between them. Cas doesn’t knot him. 

The third time, Dean gets on his hands and knees on the bed, and Cas grabs his hips and pulls him backwards to meet every thrust until Dean is nearly sobbing with the hard intensity of it. Dean comes twice but Cas doesn’t knot him. 

The fourth time, Dean is feverish and tired, and Cas fucks him more gently, sliding his hand through Dean’s hair and kissing his bruised lips, his temple, the marks left on the side of his neck. “You’re so beautiful,” Cas murmurs, and Dean just flutters his eyes at him like a fucking Disney princess. Cas doesn’t knot him. 

While Dean sits in the kitchen drinking orange juice, Cas changes the sheets on the bed, then leads Dean back to their nest and tucks him in. “Sleep, sweetheart,” Cas says. 

“Don’t call me that,” Dean mumbles. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, did you say something?” There’s a smirk in Cas’s voice. Dean wants to call him a dick but falls asleep before he gets the chance. 

Dean wakes up shivering and cold. The blankets are a mess all around him and he snuggles himself down deeper under them, mimicking Castiel’s usual morning antics. His alpha isn’t in the room. If he weren’t so goddamn cold, he’d be worried about it, but as it is, he can’t think. 

As if he can sense Dean’s waking, Cas appears in the doorway. “Are you awake, Dean?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says from under the blankets. 

The bed dips as Cas sits down. “How are you feeling?” 

“Cold.” 

“Can I come under there with you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Cas pulls the blankets aside and slides underneath next to Dean. He’s still naked, his dick soft and vulnerable looking compared to the hard lines of his muscles. Dean latches on to him, pressing up to his alpha’s chest and scenting deeply. He’ll never get tired of the way Cas smells. Even better, he can smell himself underneath it, like he’s imprinted himself on Cas’s skin. 

“Warmer?” Cas asks, his arms wrapping around Dean. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“Do you need…?” 

“Not yet.” 

Cas kisses the top of Dean’s head, then just nuzzles his face there. Dean can feel him breathing deep. “You smell so good,” Cas says. 

“You too,” Dean says. He presses his mouth to the place where his face is resting, bites gently. Cas makes a little noise deep in his throat, so Dean does it again, then finds Cas’s nipple with his lips and tongue. 

“I thought you said--” 

“Maybe I just want to play,” Dean murmurs, then nibbles. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” Cas says. He slides his hands down Dean’s sides, ribs to hipbone, and grabs on there.

Dean presses closer and keeps dropping open-mouthed kiss over Cas’s skin, exploring slowly. It’s too dim under the blankets for him to see much so he works by touch, sliding down with kisses to Cas’s sternum, then crossing to the top of his abs, his tongue moving over the ridges of muscle. Above him, Cas murmurs, “You’re so fucking perfect.” 

In the dark, it’s ok for Dean to smile, drowning in the praise, while he keeps worshipping Cas’s body with his lips and teeth and tongue. Approaching Cas’s dick, Dean pushes at Cas’s hip until he’s flat on his back, then straddles Cas’s knees. “Dean--” 

“Please,” Dean says, mouth hovering just over the head of Cas’s cock. “Can I?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, and his voice is deep and raspy and just the sound of it will turn Dean on until the end of time. 

Dean wraps his mouth around Cas’s cock, bobbing and sucking just the first few inches until Cas is restless underneath him. Breathing deep -- god, Cas smells even more like _Cas_ between his legs, and Dean is high on it -- Dean slides downward, tongue and mouth working until Cas’s entire cock, including the beginnings of a knot, are in Dean’s mouth. He feels the _pop_ as the head of Cas’s cock actually goes down his throat. 

Suddenly, the blankets are gone from over them. Dean pulls up in a hurry; a line of spit trails from his lips to Cas’s cock like a spiderweb. “Should I stop?” 

“Jesus, no,” Cas says, “I just needed to see you while you do that.” 

Dean blushes. He’s deep-throated toys on cam plenty of times, but something about it being Cas’s dick and Cas’s eyes watching changes it. Shoving back his shyness, Dean mouths at Cas’s dick again, then slides down until cock and growing knot are in his mouth, moving up and down to feel Cas’s cock move in and out of his throat until he’s dizzy with the need for air. He slides back upwards to breathe, still sucking, using his hand to massage Cas’s spit-slick knot. When he glances upward, Cas is staring at him in wonder. 

“No one’s ever…” Cas starts, then seems to lose his train of thought as Dean goes deep again. 

Cas’s hands end up in Dean’s hair, scrabbling for something to hold on to, and then pull away again to clench in the sheets instead. “It’s ok,” Dean says, licking at the salted tip of Cas’s cock. “You can fuck my mouth if you want.” 

“Dean,” Cas says breathlessly. 

Dean grins up at him, grabs a hand and places it back in his hair. “I can take it.” 

This time when he goes deep, Cas arches his hips the slightest amount to meet the back of Dean’s throat. His hand tightens in Dean’s hair again, and they find a rhythm, Cas hitching up his hips, Dean using his lips and tongue. Before long Cas’s knot swells too much to fit into Dean’s mouth so he wraps a hand around it and squeezes while he keeps fucking his mouth down on Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, still sounding awe-struck. “Sweet omega.” 

Dean’s mouth is a little busy so he just moans around Cas’s cock. Cas moans back, and the movement of his hips loses finesse, getting a little rougher. 

Cas warns, “I’m going to -- I’m going to come, Dean --” and Dean just sucks harder, increases the pressure on Cas’s knot, moans, until Cas let’s out a final gasp and comes hard down Dean’s throat. 

Dean keeps stroking him, keeps sucking at the head, until Cas is spent. Cas’s hands drop out of Dean’s hair and his eyes close. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says. 

Dean smiles and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good?” 

“Fuck,” Cas repeats. He squints open his eyes to look at Dean. “Speechless.” 

Dean gives a proud smirk, then erases the expression from his face. Cas isn’t another show, another conquest to brag about. He’s something else all together. 

Cas reaches up and pulls Dean down for a kiss. It’s hot and hungry and Dean’s heat has him tremoring and flushed, warm now that he’s with his alpha. He whines into Cas’s mouth and Cas answers with a growl. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Cas says, and Dean starts to pull away in a panic, “because I can’t get hard again for you right this second.” 

Dean laughs. Presses forward for another kiss. “It’s ok. I have toys.” 

“Oh, no,” Cas says. He grabs Dean by the shoulders and flips them so Dean is flat on his back and Cas is holding himself over him. “I’m going to take care of you, whether I use my dick or not.” 

Which means Cas slides his hand downwards and fucks Dean with his fingers until Dean comes twice, shoving himself down on Cas’s hand and saying “Cas, Cas, Cas.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Heat’s over,” Dean says. It’s almost regret, what he feels, because he’s not entirely sure what will happen between them now. Do they go back to nothing but chaste touches -- no kisses, no lawless fucking, no desperation for each other? Can he ever go back after this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content note** : Mention of suicide, child sexual/physical abuse

It’s an exhausting handful of days. Dean’s heat comes and goes without any identifiable pattern, keeps them up all night and all day, and even the constant fucking hardly lessens it. They fuck on the couch, in the bed, in the shower, bent over the kitchen counter. Cas is so gentle near the end, just grinding inside of Dean instead of the hard, desperate thrusts at the beginning of his heat, but Dean’s hole still aches. 

Cas is holding Dean from behind, stroking dirty hair out of his face, dropping kisses along the bruise marks on Dean’s shoulder. “Beautiful omega,” he murmurs against Dean’s ear. Dean shivers. “You don’t have a fever anymore. Is it getting better?” 

“I think so,” Dean says. “You can go back to work.” 

Cas laughs. “Do you really think there’s anything in the world that would get me to leave you right now?” 

“Dunno,” Dean says. He reaches backwards to grab at Cas’s hip, pull him closer. 

“Do you want me to go? You need to rest.” 

“No!” 

“Good.” Cas kisses along the hairline on the back of Dean’s neck. “I can go back to work tomorrow. Today, it’s just you and me.” 

 

They sleep through that afternoon and well into the evening. For once, Dean’s dreams are calming -- the opposite of nightmares -- just images of Cas holding him, kissing him, laughing with him. He even thinks he dreams about them watching Seyit and Surra together, and in the dream, Dean doesn’t hate it. 

It’s quiet and dark in their nest when Dean wakes. Cas is already mostly back in the land of the living, drawing circles on Dean’s lower back with his fingertips. It’s these non-sexual touches that hit Dean the hardest. 

“Hey,” Dean says. It sounds too loud. 

“Hey,” Cas says back. He touches Dean’s chin, tilts it upwards so their eyes can meet, so he can press an eyes-open kiss to Dean’s mouth. 

“Heat’s over,” Dean says. It’s almost regret, what he feels, because he’s not entirely sure what will happen between them now. Do they go back to nothing but chaste touches -- no kisses, no lawless fucking, no desperation for each other? Can he ever go back after this? 

“Let’s order pizza to celebrate.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “celebrate.” 

Cas orders fancy pizza with alfredo sauce instead of the usual red and spinach and mushrooms and chicken. Dean’s not so sure about it, but convinced after the first bite. They go through a large pizza and breadsticks together, not speaking, but it’s a comfortable-hungry silence. 

With all the food gone, Dean leans back on the couch and pats his belly. “Hell, Cas, you sure do know how to order a pizza.” 

“One of my few skills,” Cas agrees. 

They grin at each other. Dean reaches out and touches Castiel’s hand. Immediately, Cas turns his hand to take Dean’s. It warms Dean all the way down to the bone. 

 

In bed, Cas nestled up to Dean’s shoulder, Cas says, “You’ve seen my tattoo by now.” 

Dean says, “It’s beautiful.” 

“You asked if I have any siblings.” 

Dean stills, barely breathing. “Yeah,” he says. 

“We’re all named after Angels. Me, Michael, Gabriel, Anael.” 

“I wondered,” Dean says, “about ‘Castiel.’” 

“The angel of Thursday,” Cas says. 

Dean strokes a hand through his hair. 

“Our parents…” Cas swallows. “Things weren’t right with them. Anael was the youngest and got it the worst, even worse than me. Our father touched her.” 

“Jesus,” Dean says. 

“There was a lot of religion in our house,” Cas says. “‘Spare the rod.’” 

Dean says, “Dad was an angry drunk. Took it out on me. No religion needed for that.” 

“Anael self-immolated on her fifteenth birthday.” 

“She… what?” 

“Set herself on fire.” 

“No, I know what it _means_ , just… Christ, Cas.” 

“I could’ve saved her. But I didn’t. I was doing this internship and it seemed like the most important thing in the world, even though there wasn’t enough money to take her away with me.” 

“That’s not your fault,” Dean says, “it’s not your fault what your father did to her.” 

“I could’ve saved her,” Cas repeats. 

“People can’t save each other,” Dean says, though he’s thinking about what Cas has done for him, how little loneliness he feels in Cas’s arms. “People can only save themselves.” 

“The tattoo is for her. So I never forget what I did. Or didn’t do.” 

Dean isn’t sure what to say. He leans down and presses his lips to Cas’s forehead, just above where lines form when he’s frowning. Right now he looks devastated, like the death just happened yesterday. Dean knows how he feels. 

“My mom died in a fire,” Dean says. “It was an arson.” 

“Did they catch…?” 

“No.” Dean chews on his bottom lip. “After that, Dad lost it. Started drinking. Started hitting me when he was too drunk to know what he was doing. Sometimes I wonder if he ever hit her.” 

They’re both quiet for a long time, lost in their own memories. 

At last, Cas says, “I’m sorry. You must miss her very much.” 

“Every day,” Dean says. “Every goddamn day.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Cas, we can’t do this every morning.”_
> 
> _“Yes we can.”_
> 
> Every morning, _Dean said, and Cas said_ yes. _Dean’s irritation vanishes and he grins._

They both sleep hard and long, exhausted after all the heat sex, and they both snooze through the alarm several times. Dean still gets up first. 

“Wake up, Cas,” he says, nudging Cas’s shoulder. 

“Don’t wanna,” Cas says, snuggling himself closer to Dean, gripping tight. 

“Cas, we can’t do this every morning.” 

“Yes we can.” 

_Every morning,_ Dean said, and Cas said _yes_. Dean’s irritation vanishes and he grins. 

“What are you smiling about?” Cas grumbles. 

“You.” 

“I’m not funny.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re sexy and hot and gorgeous.” 

Cas squints at Dean. “You are too.” He presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s mouth, timidly, and Dean turns his head to make it a real kiss. 

“Mmm,” Cas says. 

“You’re supposed to run today,” Dean says, “but…” 

“Yes?” 

They’re so close they are sharing morning breath, which is kind of gross but also kind of wonderful. “But I’d rather suck your cock,” Dean says. 

Castiel’s eyebrows go a mile high. “We can do that.” 

Dean reaches down to Cas’s dick, already hardening at the suggestion, and strokes him to a full hard-on. He slides down Cas’s body, not bothering to stop for any kisses or licks, just focused on making it to his cock, and swallows him down in one quick movement. Cas’s hands immediately go to his hair and pull, his hips already arching up to meet Dean’s mouth. 

It’s so good Dean ends up reaching down to stroke his own dick while he sucks Cas. They come together and then Dean kisses Cas to share the taste of him and Cas can’t seem to make any words. Dean just smiles and smiles. 

Cas scents Dean on the way out of the house, but this time he ends with a kiss, tongue full of longing. 

“I wish you could stay here,” Dean says. 

“Me too,” Cas says. 

 

Dean sends Cas pictures of kittens all day, stupid Grumpy Cat memes (Dean hates that cat but Cas loves him), and Cas replies with smiley emoticons. 

_Can you make dinner?_

_ya of course_

_I’ll be home at 10._

Dean makes lasagna, laboring over it like it could earn Cas’s love, and it’s worth it because Cas does groan appreciatively around the first bite. 

“Thank you,” Cas says, helping Dean with the dishes. “You’re a fantastic cook.” 

Dean blushes. “It’s nothing.” 

Cas elbows Dean gently. “You think too little of yourself.” 

“Nah,” Dean says, “I just, you know, try to keep it realistic.” 

Cas grabs Dean’s arm, turning him so they are facing each other. Soapy water drips on the floor. “You are incredible, Dean Winchester,” Cas says. Before Dean can argue, Cas leans forward and kisses Dean firmly. “No arguing.” 

Dishes done, crashed on the couch, Dean finds a bit of courage and says, “So we can… keep doing this? The kissing and the sex and…?” 

Cas tilts his head. “I would like that very much.” 

They smile at each other, and Dean knows Sam would never stop making fun of him if he saw this moment, Cas and Dean full of food made with love and smiling like idiots, but Dean doesn’t care at all. 

 

One night while Cas works next to him on the couch, Dean picks at a fingernail and says, “You have to stop paying me.” 

Cas’s fingers pause on the laptop keys. “What?” 

“You can’t pay me anymore.” 

“You want to… dissolve our agreement?” Cas only talks like this when he’s nervous, when he’s trying to hide. 

“No!” Dean says, so harshly it surprises both of them. “I just -- you don’t want to pay me for sex --” 

“We can stop.” 

“I don’t want to stop. I want to -- fuck, Cas, I want to have you for real.” 

“For real?” Cas sounds unbelieving. 

“Yeah. Just, you know, just us. Without money. I can move back into my place, and we could, I don’t know, date?” 

“You want to date.” 

“I want to date you,” Dean clarifies. 

Cas stares at him, eyes unreadable, endless blue. He licks his lips. “What will you do for money?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about? I’ll start camming again.” 

Cas looks down, like he’s trying to see some secret in the computer keys. “You don’t want to do that,” he says, “do you?” 

“I do what I have to do, Cas, you know that.” 

Slowly, Cas closes the computer, sets it aside, then turns sideways on the couch to face Dean. “I support your decision,” he says, “but I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to just for money.” 

“That’s not the point, Cas. Do you want to be with me for real or not? Do I even have a shot with you?” 

Cas laughs a little, but it’s more self-deprecating than humorous. “I’ve wanted to be with you since I first saw you.” 

“Then say it.” 

Cas reaches forward, touches his thumb to Dean’s lower lip. “I want to be with you,” he says. 

Dean lights up like the sun. 

 

Castiel cancels the bi-weekly deposit into Dean’s checking account, and Dean starts spending days at his apartment on camera while he spends nights with Cas. There are no days off now: Dean spends every night in Cas’s bed, and they always spend their Sundays together, and they fuck like Dean doesn’t jerk off on camera all day. Dean has never been with anyone like this before, never wanted to say _you will never have another lonely holiday_ , and it blows him away daily -- this man, this smart and accomplished and gorgeous and driven man, wants him. It’s just about goddamn perfect.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I avoid Crowley at all costs. I would never share with him something as personal as what I had for breakfast, much less about you, much less try to engage in quid pro quo.”_

Castiel comes home halfway through the day, a storm in his eyes that makes Dean shrink back a little. He’s seen that storm in other men before, and it never ends well. 

“Hey,” he says, aiming for fake composure, but his voice might waver a little. “Everything ok?” 

“Everything is not ok,” Cas says. “Is there anything to drink in this house other than beer?” 

Dean looks away. “If there were, it’d be gone by now.” 

Cas’s face falls. He looks disappointed, but not in Dean. “That was insensitive of me. I apologize.” 

“It’s cool,” Dean says. “What, uh, what happened? You’re home early. Are you feeling ok?” 

“I’m extremely angry.” 

“I can tell.” 

“I lodged a complaint against Crowley several weeks ago,” Cas says, “but he has countered with an accusation against me. We’re both under investigation.” 

“Oh, shit,” Dean says. 

“Yes. ‘Oh shit.’” 

“But you’re the boss.” 

“Which, if Crowley’s complaint is found to be valid, makes it even worse. The power imbalance between us makes the whole thing… complicated.” 

“But you didn’t do anything, right?” 

“Absolutely not. I avoid him at all costs. I would never share with him something as personal as what I had for breakfast, much less about you, much less try to engage in quid pro quo.” 

“It’s about me?” Dean says, voice fading to almost nothing. 

“The details of the report are not able to be shared with me,” Cas says, “but I’m certain it’s about you.” 

To busy his hands, Dean takes Cas’s coat and briefcase. They are still standing in the entryway to the house. When Dean returns from the office, Cas is collapsed on the couch, rubbing his forehead. 

Dean says, “I’ve caused so much trouble.” 

Castiel’s eyes jerk up to meet his. “You’re worth it,” he says, “worth everything.” 

Dean deflects, not sure how to feel about that. “So, um, what now?” 

“I’m suspended until the investigation is complete.” 

“You can’t go to work?” 

“I can’t do much of anything but wait. It could be weeks.” 

“But you’re in charge! How can they -- I mean, can they even survive without you for that long?” 

Cas laughs without humor. “Overall, yes. There are things that will be put on hold but many of my duties can be delegated for now.” 

Dean sits next to Cas. Reaches for his hand and brings it to his mouth, kisses along his knuckles. “It’s going to be ok though, right?” 

Cas smiles. It’s small, but it’s something. “I have you,” he says, “so, yes.” 

 

Spring rolls around. Cas says he’s only used the pool a few times since he moved in, even though he pays someone to keep it clean and maintained, and Dean thinks this is an absolute travesty. They go shopping for swim trunks -- Dean pays for his own after they argue in the store -- and Dean dives in happily. 

“Oh, fuck!” he says, surfacing. “This shit is cold!” 

“I told you,” Cas says. He sits on the edge and dips his feet in hesitantly. “It’s not hot enough outside yet.” 

Dean sweeps an arm across the top of the water, drenching Cas, who growls and jumps in just to wrestle Dean under the water. Cas is deceptively strong, but Dean has inches and weight on him, so they are on pretty equal footing as they playfight in the cold. 

But in the end, they are pressed up against each other, and Dean backs Cas up against the side of the pool and kisses him slow and with a lot of tongue. Cas’s hands slide down to bracket Dean’s hips; he couldn’t move away even if he was crazy enough to want to. “God,” Dean says when the kiss breaks. He is still close enough that their noses touch. 

“Yes?” 

“You’re just… you’re somethin’ else, Cas.” 

Cas presses forward for another kiss, taking Dean’s lead so it’s gentle and sweet and almost too much. “You’re amazing,” Cas says. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but shuts it quickly. To cover up the moment -- to keep Dean from asking, Dean knows -- he slides his hand downwards to rub over Dean’s hardening length. Dean moans and finds another kiss, rougher this time, wanting. 

“Let’s go inside,” Cas says. 

Dean has never agreed to anything so fast. 

In bed, Cas puts Dean on his hands and knees. This is not Dean’s favorite position by far; he likes to see Cas, watch him turn alpha and _take_ when Dean begs for it, but Dean goes willingly like he always does with Cas. 

Dean’s wet hair drips into his eyes. Cas kisses the knob at the back of his neck, nips a little there. It’s not the right place but Dean wants to ask for a real bite, sharp teeth and a little bit of blood, but he knows better. Cas would say no. 

Instead of fucking into him, Cas kisses wetly down Dean’s spine, his hands all over, stroking Dean’s cock and pinching his nipples and grabbing his ass, and Dean is breathless and wanting and unable to think by the time Cas gets where he wants to be. They haven’t done this since Dean’s heat and Dean assumed Cas didn’t want to, was just overtaken by heat-madness in that moment, but now there is no fevered need and he still spreads Dean’s cheeks and huffs warm air over his hole. Dean gasps. 

Ever so slowly, Cas licks away the slick leaking out of Dean. He moans while he does it -- _moans_ like it gives him pleasure to touch Dean this way. Dean moans in return, and he kind of loses control of himself when Cas’s tongue stiffens and pushes past the ring of muscle. Dean falls down to his elbows, ass still presented in the air, and then his face falls into the pillows. The air smells like alpha and omega, arousal thick and heady. 

“Shh,” Cas murmurs, “I’m going to take care of you.” He says this a lot when they are like this, naked and wanting, and Dean never tells him how it makes Dean insane. He’s never wanted to be taken care of before. 

Cas keeps working his tongue into Dean, around his hole, down to his balls and back, pausing every now and then to kiss and bite at the rounded swell of Dean’s ass. Dean is delirious with pleasure and Cas says, “Hold yourself open for me.” 

Eagerly, Dean reaches backwards and spreads himself for Cas to keep licking and sucking and fucking. Dean is moaning and babbling a little, just curses and “god” and “so good, Cas, so good” and “don’t stop” and “please please please.” Dean thinks he could come just from this. 

He doesn’t have a chance to find out, though, because Cas reaches around and starts to stroke Dean’s dick in time with the movement of his tongue. Dean is coiled and tense, not sure if he should fuck forward into Cas’s hand or push backwards into his mouth. 

“Are you going to come for me, Dean?” Cas asks into his skin. 

“Yeah,” Dean moans, “yeah, Cas.” 

“You can come any time, sweetheart,” Cas says, and it’s probably the _sweetheart_ that does it, because Dean flies over the edge and comes in hard spurts that paint the sheets below him. 

Cas licks him through it, keeps touching his cock, until Dean is too sensitive all over and squirms away. When he looks backwards, Cas is licking the last traces of slick off his lips, and then he’s sucking come off his fingers, and Dean thinks he could come again just from that sight. He’ll definitely think of it while he does his shows, chasing a fantasy so he can get hard. 

“I just -- need a minute --” Dean says, “and then I can suck you or whatever --” 

“You don’t have to,” Cas says. He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, pulling hard and fast. Dean watches, knowing his eyes are dark and dilated, and it’s not long before Cas is coming all over Dean’s ass and back, some of it dripping down his crack to slide past his hole. It’s another sight, another sensation, to add to his list of fantasies. 

Cas sits back on his heels, breathing hard, and Dean doesn’t move from his position face down, ass up. Cas leans forward and kisses one of the bruises he’s left on Dean’s ass, then gets out of bed. “Don’t move,” he says. A moment later, he comes back with a washcloth and carefully cleans Dean off, his hands gentle and thorough, and then Dean collapses onto the bed, boneless. Cas climbs in after him and the bed is big enough for both of them to avoid the wetspot. 

Dean doesn’t want to call what they do cuddling, but he has to admit that it’s… cuddling. They do it every night. They do it after fucking. They do it on the couch. They are doing it right now, Cas wrapped around Dean from behind, littering kisses over his neck and shoulders. 

“I didn’t used to cuddle,” Dean says. 

Castiel strokes a hand over his belly. “You could’ve fooled me. You’re pretty good at it.” 

Dean blushes and isn’t sure why. Maybe because Cas smells like home, like sweet alpha, like _mate_.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omega, _Whitedemon says_ , you need me. Come choke on my knot. 
> 
> sry can’t. do u want to go prvt today? 
> 
> I’m going to punish you.

Once upon a time, Dean didn’t mind camming -- even had fun sometimes, teasing and flirting with faceless alphas (and, apparently, some betas, if Fitzgerald has seen him) -- but now he dreads it. He dreads the moment that he gets in his car and drives back to his apartment and presents his ass or cock or both for the camera. 

There’s an especially annoying new user called Whitedemon that likes to boss Dean around in private shows. He pays and tips well, so Dean submits to most of his requests, but it always leaves Dean feeling especially gross afterwards. He wants Dean to fuck himself so hard and long that it hurts. He doesn’t want Dean to come. He tells Dean that Dean belongs to him, that he will fuck Dean until he doesn’t remember any other alphas, that he will own him completely. He wants Dean to spank himself red. It’s not the worst client Dean has experienced but certainly not his favorite. (His favorite alpha is called LB3042, who he is pretty sure is actually a woman, who pays well and always has kind words to say to him. They think he’s the prettiest omega they’ve ever seen.) 

One day he gets a PM from Whitedemon saying he wants to meet Dean. He’ll pay him to act out his fantasies, the kind of things they talk about in the private shows and more, and he’ll pay well. 

Once upon a time, Dean answered an email that was, in many ways, much the same, and now he’s scent bonded and wishing for a bite, but Whitedemon’s message makes him shudder. He has a feeling that the fantasies referenced are much worse than anything he would ever consent to, even with Cas. 

He replies, carefully wording his rejection in an attempt to keep a good customer. He says that he doesn’t do that kind of thing, that he lives in a fantasy world online that doesn’t transfer to the real world. 

When Whitedemon writes back, he says, _That’s not what I’ve heard._

Dean pauses. He’s on cam, just flirting shirtless in the public room, waiting for a private request to come in, but he doesn’t have time to panic. Still, he kind of does. 

_what do u mean?_

_You’ve met with guests before._

_no i don’t do that. sorry_

_How much would buy you? $500? $1000? Everyone has a price._

_not me_

_You’re not mated, so why would you hesitate? Omegas are looking for an alpha to own them and I can tell you’re no different._

_dude i’m not a prostitute_

_But you want my alpha dick. I can see you right now, needing it._

_this convo is over_

Dean is rattled, something he never lets clients do to him, so he waves goodbye to the public room and shuts down off his cam for the rest of the day. Instead he goes back home to be with Cas. They spend the afternoon looking at recipes on Pinterest and arguing over which ones Dean should make for dinner next week.

 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Cas says. They’re on the couch, Dean with a book and Cas with Seyit and Sura (Dean still hates it). 

“I’m reading,” Dean says. 

“You were quiet at dinner.” 

Dean dog-ears the page he’s on and sets the book aside. His feet are in Cas’s lap and Cas has his hands on Dean’s ankles. “I don’t want to talk about my, uh -- my work with you.” 

“Why not?” Cas’s expression is open and curious, not judgmental the way Dean would expect. He thinks Cas has to want him to stop camming, but if so, he never says it. 

“It’s just gross,” Dean says. 

Cas tilts his head. “Did you feel gross before? When you were doing shows for me?” 

Dean shifts on the couch, not meeting Cas’s eyes. “Less gross than I feel now.” 

“What happened?” 

“Just this guy,” Dean says. “He wants to meet me.” 

Cas’s face closes then. Dean can practically see the blinds being drawn. “And you said…?” 

“I said no, Cas! What else do you think I would say?!” 

“You said yes to me.” 

“You’re different.” 

“You didn’t know I was different.” 

This is a good point that Dean has no reply to. “Whatever, Cas. I said no. But he wouldn’t stop bugging me about it.” 

“Did you block him?” 

Dean looks at his hands, picks at a ragged fingernail. “No,” he says. “The money -- he pays really well.” 

Cas nods. Dean has no idea what he’s thinking. 

“Cas, I would never -- meeting someone, that would be like cheating on you. And we’re -- I mean -- fuck. I think we’re _something_. Right?” 

“I like to think of you as my partner,” Cas says carefully. 

Dean pulls his legs under him and crawls over to Cas’s side of the couch. He kisses Cas, tenderly, and says, “I like the sound of that.” 

 

_Omega_ , Whitedemon says, _you need me. Come choke on my knot._

_sry can’t. do u want to go prvt today?_

_I’m going to punish you._

Dean’s finger hovers over the “block” button. The hesitation is stupid: there are plenty of other alphas to pay his bills. And he’s never really been into the dominant hyper-alpha aesthetic. He’s into alphas like Cas, calm and collected with kind touches and sweet kisses and laughter. Cas might fuck his face when Dean asks, but he would never say _choke on my knot_. He just cradles Dean’s head in his hands and stares in awe when Dean goes down on him, and tells him he has a beautiful mouth, and tells him it makes him want to do the same for Dean, and tells him he’s amazing. 

Dean clicks block and is immediately hit with a sense of relief. 

Until later, when he gets an email: _You’re going to regret that._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But we haven’t been out. Let’s go downtown for a good steak,” Cas says._
> 
> _"I hardly know how to act in a nice restaurant,” Dean says, but he’s smiling._
> 
> _“We can be heathens together.”_

It’s almost two weeks of Cas being home all day before Cas texts Dean: _Great news!_

Dean has to finish the private show he’s in the middle of before he can text back: _whtas up?_

_Crowley has “resigned.” I’ve been reinstated._

_!!!!!! celebrating tonight!!!_

_Definitely._ The cursor blinks for a moment as Cas types something else, but then he must erase it, because no other message comes in. 

At home, Cas throws his arms around Dean’s shoulders and kisses him again and again, just silly little pecks, and they both laugh, just… fuck, Dean likes nothing more than being with Cas. Especially like this, when Cas is grinning and open-faced. 

In the past, Dean’s version of “celebration” would’ve involved, basically, nothing but drinking, but things are different now, so he asks Cas what they should do. 

“I want to take you out,” Cas says. “We haven’t been on a real date yet.” 

“We do everything together,” Dean says, a little confused. 

“But we haven’t been _out_. Let’s go downtown for a good steak,” Cas says. 

“I hardly know how to act in a nice restaurant,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. 

“We can be heathens together.” 

Trying to get dressed, they keep pausing for long kisses full of promise, but eventually Dean makes it into nice jeans and one of his nice shirts and his nice shoes. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and Cas stares as he does it. 

“Something about that,” Cas says, “is incredibly fucking sexy.” 

“You think all of me is sexy,” Dean teases. 

“Yes, I do.” Cas kisses him again, grabs his ass for emphasis. “But you sure do clean up good, sweetheart.” 

Dean always drives now, and he thinks Cas is beginning to appreciate the monstrosity that is Baby, and it makes him all warm inside to see Cas with his arm out the window and singing along to Dean’s music. They listen to Steely Dan, mostly because “Reelin’ in the Years” has become one of Cas’s favorite songs and Dean loves to indulge him.

The restaurant is nice, but not nearly the horror of opulence that Dean expected. It’s a Tuesday night and Cas called ahead, so they are seated fairly quickly. They hold hands while waiting. 

The waiter is a cute little pixie-haired omega. She says they are an adorable couple and asks, “How long have you two been mates?” 

Dean and Cas both blush. “Oh, we’re not --” Dean starts, then decides to indulge in the fantasy. “Not that long,” he says. 

When he turns away from the server, Cas is looking at him curiously. “We’re not mated,” he says. 

“I know, but -- she doesn’t really care. She’s just being polite. I don’t need to get into our whole life story with a server.” 

Cas nods, but Dean isn’t sure he’s convinced. 

They both order a glass of wine. Dean hates it so Cas finishes his happily. By his third round, Cas is grinning a little loosely and grabbing Dean’s thigh under the table. Dean just shakes his head and puts his hand over Cas’s and doesn’t let it travel up to his crotch like Cas seems intent on doing. Dean does not need to be hiding a hard-on in this nice restaurant. 

The food is _amazing_. Dean doesn’t know that he’s ever had a steak this good. He moans around the first bite and sees Cas’s eyes dilate. 

Cas leans over and whispers in Dean’s ear, “After this, I’m going to fuck you so good you forget your own name.” 

Well. So much for not having to hide an erection. 

Cas ends up blowing Dean in the Impala in their driveway, then makes good on his promise and fucks Dean until Dean is incoherent and raving. 

 

“So you’ll go back to work tomorrow.” 

“Yes. I’m going to be working some pretty intense hours to get caught up. My email alone -- over a thousand messages I’ll need to have my assistant help me go through. We won’t see much of each other in the next few of weeks, I’m afraid.” 

Dean is a little disappointed but he doesn’t let it show on his face. “Ok, cool. I guess I can make a little more money too.” 

“I wish you didn’t have to do that,” Cas says. “I know you hate it.” 

“It’s ok. I’m used to it.” 

“You don’t have to pay rent,” Cas says. “You don’t have to pay anything. I can take care of you.” 

“Yes, I do,” Dean says harshly. “We agreed I’m not going to be your kept man anymore --” 

“I know. But partners help each other. Partners take care of each other.” 

Dean scowls. “That’s not going to happen. I don’t need your _help_.” 

Cas puts his hands up in a placating gesture and takes a step back. It’s so much the opposite of how most alphas act. “All right,” he says. “But the offer stands if you change your mind.” 

Dean knows he won’t. He’s not the kind of person to take charity. 

 

Cas’s long hours mean Dean takes long hours, too, taking lots of pictures to update his blog with and doing a lot of shows, private and public, and making a lot of tips and gaining new clients. None of them are like Whitedemon, but none of them are like LB3042, either; they’re all kind of bossy but mostly too nervous to scare Dean off to get too weird with it. 

Dean gets another email from Whitedemon. _I’m watching you,_ it says. Dean keeps an eye out, trying to guess which new guest is Whitedemon, who he should block, but it’s impossible to tell and he can’t risk the loss of income by just blocking everyone who seems a little creepy. After all, they are all at least a little creepy. 

Cas comes home late and exhausted, sometimes so much so that he skips dinner (Dean packs him leftovers for lunch and hopes he eats at least that). They stop having sex. Dean misses him intensely, even though they still have their nights together where Cas holds him extra tight. It’s just not the same as Cas’s gummy grins and unintentional jokes and literary analysis of whatever Dean is reading, using words Dean never thought he would know the definition of. 

One day, Dean receives a postcard at his apartment with the standard “Welcome to Austin” mural on the front and the back says: _You’ll be mine soon._


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ******CONTENT NOTE****** This chapter contains depictions of sexual violence  & from here on out we'll be dealing with the trauma after such an assault. 
> 
> This was not the intention I had for this story, but clearly I'm still processing some stuff since I keep writing about sexual violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ******CONTENT NOTE****** This chapter contains depictions of sexual violence  & from here on out we'll be dealing with the trauma after such an assault. 
> 
> This was not the intention I had for this story, but clearly I'm still processing some stuff since I keep writing about sexual violence.

Dean doesn’t tell Cas about the postcard. He mostly goes about life as usual, though he keeps a better eye out for his surroundings, looking for familiar cars or faces. He’s known other performers whose whereabouts were learned by clients, and it’s mostly just sick fucks getting their jollies off at making someone a little nervous, not anything truly dangerous. Dean’s not going to give in to a little bit of fear. 

The mixture of suppressants and Cas mean his heat is irregular. When it comes again, Cas helps him through with tender hands and smiles, fucking Dean soft and slow and then hard and fast, whatever Dean needs, kissing him through it and bringing cool washcloths to lay on his fevered forehead. Dean does humiliating heat shows but for once, he’s not terrified of it. With Cas there, he kind of enjoys his heat. It’s nice to be taken care of, to be touched so purposefully, to feel… loved, almost, if Dean were honest with himself. Not that self-honesty has ever been his forte. 

It’s near the end of his heat when it happens. He and Cas are both working late, and Dean is taking a break from shows to gobble leftover Chinese food and chug water. There’s a knock at his door. 

He figures it’s a mistake -- someone at the wrong apartment, especially since the apartment buildings are a maze and impossible to navigate without help -- so he pulls on a robe and pulls the door open without looking through the peep hole.

There’s an older man on the other side, dressed in a blazer but no tie. He looks just like every other old guy on the street. 

“Dean,” he says. 

“Uh… what’s up? Do I know you?” 

“You will.” 

While Dean is still off-guard, the man shoulders his way into the apartment. “Hey, what --” 

A needle is pushed into his bicep. He feels the burning liquid as it enters under his skin, but before he can knock the hand holding it away, he’s on the floor. 

 

Dean wakes up with his wrists and ankles hobbled, arms behind his back. There’s alpha stink all over the room -- nothing like the calm scent of Cas, just pure _stink_. 

He tries to say something but his mouth doesn’t seem to be working properly. He tries to struggle in the ties but only manages a weak pull of his wrists. His head is fuzzy and kind of swimming, the room moving around him like he’s had way too much whiskey. He struggles to remember if he was drinking earlier, if he broke his promise to Cas. It wouldn’t be the first time he let someone down. 

He hears the bathroom sink running, and then the man from earlier walks out. Dean blinks foggily up at him. 

“There you are!” the man says. “I was afraid I’d killed you.” 

Before Dean can respond, the man is at his side, shoving a gag in his mouth and buckling it at the back of Dean’s head. It’s Dean’s own toy, something he’s worn in shows before, but it’s uncomfortable and slobbery and he hates it. Still, it sits at the bottom of his toybox. 

Dean tries to keep his eyes open, but it’s tough. In between slow blinks, he sees the man undressing. 

 

Dean can’t keep track of time. The things the man does to him hurt -- not just the penis inside him that leaves blood dripping down his legs, but the man pulls out a cane and hits him with it all over until welts rise on his skin, until the skin breaks. He slaps Dean’s face hard enough to leave the skin swollen and red. 

Before he leaves, the man pulls out a pocket knife and carves something on Dean’s back. It’s not deep, but Dean screams around the gag all the same. The man chuckles, uses the knife to cut the knot on Dean’s wrists, then leaves. 

Dean is still groggy and weak, but he manages to struggle out of the rope around his hands. He’s shaking and fumbles with the gag, then struggles with the knot around his ankles. He can’t get it undone. 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, intending to go to the kitchen for scissors or a knife, but he falls, his arms flailing to catch him. Laboriously, he pulls himself out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. He can feel the carpet burn on his knees. 

On the couch, his phone rings. Cas changed the ringer to Hotline Bling as a joke, and Dean hasn’t bothered to change it back yet, and the song is jarring considering the circumstances. His phone had been dinging the whole time with the stranger, too, text messages coming in like crazy, but Dean can’t worry about that right now. 

He makes it to the kitchen. He struggles to stand but can’t quite make it. After a moment he just lays his pounding head on the cool tile and tries to breathe. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when there’s a pounding on his door, and Dean cries out. The man is back, he’s sure, for another round of torture. 

“Dean?” 

It’s Cas. Dean panics, scrabbling off the floor and trying to get to his feet again. “I’m fine,” he tries to yell, but it comes out a little garbled. 

“Are you ok? Let me in.” 

“I’m fine,” Dean says again, but it’s hoarse and probably too quiet for Cas to hear. 

Cas jiggles the doorknob and finds out it’s unlocked. The kitchen is directly to the left of the door, so he spots Dean almost immediately. 

“You haven’t answered my -- oh my god.” He rushes to Dean, but stops before touching, just staring. “What happened?” 

Dean has no idea what he looks like, but he’s pretty sure a lie about being fine isn’t going to cut it. “I -- I don’t know --” 

“Let me -- let me untie you --” Cas kneels down and his fingers make quick work of the knot, then he unwraps the rope from Dean’s ankles. There are angry red rub marks underneath. “Can you walk? You need to sit down.” 

Dean shrugs, holds onto the counter and manages to make it a few steps before he stumbles and Cas has to catch him. Together they get to the couch and Dean collapses into it. The fabric is soft but still rubs at his wounds, making him whimper a little. Cas is looking down at his own arm streaked with blood. 

“Lean forward, let me see your back,” Cas says. 

Dean struggles with the instruction but manages to drop his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. 

Behind him, Cas gasps. “That bad, huh?” Dean says. His voice is still raspy. 

“He cut you,” Cas says. His voice goes cold as ice, hard as steel. “Who hurt you?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean whispers. “I think -- I think a client -- I don’t know, Cas. I don’t know.” He sounds a little hysterical near the end. 

Cas touches him carefully, stroking the hair on the back of his head. “I’ll kill him,” Cas says.

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean says again. There are no tears, but he starts sobbing, his whole body shaking with it. 

“We should get you cleaned up. Do you have a tub? I’ll run water for you.” 

Dean gestures towards the bedroom, keeping his head down, sobs wracking his body. 

Cas is only gone for a moment. The faucet starts, and then he’s so-gently touching Dean’s arm. Dean shrugs him away and tries to wipe his eyes, but there’s nothing there. 

Dean walks on his own to the bathroom, holding on to the wall on the way, Cas hovering behind him in case he falls.

In the bathroom, Dean flips the switch to turn the shower on and steps under freezing cold water. He cries out at the pounding on his back, every single wound screaming, and when he looks down, the water is running red off of him. 

Cas stands just outside the shower, watching him through the clear plastic curtain. “I don’t need you,” Dean says, and Cas backs up a step, puts the seat down on the toilet and sits, not watching with eagle eyes anymore. 

Dean scrubs himself raw, not caring about the pain, rinsing the rag when it’s red with blood and then going back at it. Everything hurts but nothing matters except getting the smell of the alpha off of himself. He weaves a little bit, head still spinning, but manages to catch himself on the slick tiled wall of the shower. 

It takes half an hour before Dean feels like he can get out of the shower. The water goes off, he carefully steps over the lip of the tub and takes the towel Cas holds out to him. Drying himself is a nightmare of pain and there’s some blood on the towel when he’s finished. He throws it on the floor. 

Almost too afraid to look, Dean turns his back to the mirror and cranes his head around. The cuts are weeping again, blood welling up among the letters: _WHORE._


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The sheets are streaked with blood. Dean throws the blankets on the floor and starts to peel the fitted sheet off._
> 
> _“What are you doing?” Cas asks._
> 
> _“Laundry,” Dean says._

Dean rushes to put on clothes with his still-shaking hands, like if he covers up the cuts and welts and bruises, they won’t exist anymore. Cas stays several steps away, watching but silent. 

The sheets are streaked with blood. Dean throws the blankets on the floor and starts to peel the fitted sheet off.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks. 

“Laundry,” Dean says.

“I’ll take care of that later,” Cas says. “I think -- I think we should call --” 

“ _No_ ,” Dean says vehemently. 

"Then I think I should take you to --"

" _No._ " 

“This person who hurt you --” 

“They’ll never believe me. I’m a slut for money. Things just got -- a little out of control --” 

“Are you saying you invited him here?” 

“ _No_ ,” Dean says, just as vehemently. 

“If you won’t let me call the cops or let me take you to the hopsital, then let me take you home.” 

Dean looks around his apartment. Blood on the sheets. Rope and gag on the floor. Fake knots everywhere. His t-shirt is sticking to the blood matting on his back. Cas is looking at him like he’s broken. 

“I -- I can’t -- I don’t want --” Dean realizes he has no idea what he’s trying to say, all his thoughts whirling and unable to be caught. 

“You can’t stay here.” 

Dean can’t look at Cas. He can barely keep his eyes open. He sits on the edge of the bed because he doesn’t think he can stand anymore. “I just need to lay down.” 

“You can rest at home. And I can clean up your back. If we take care of it, I don’t think there will be any scars.” 

Dean laughs. No scars. Hilarious. 

 

Castiel’s car is parked close so they don’t run into anyone while Dean stumble-walks outside. Cas drives them back to his house at high speed. Cas is a terrible driver but for once Dean doesn’t comment on it, just stares out the window with slowly blinking eyes, images of Whitedemon passing in front of him. 

He’s pretty sure that’s who the man who visited him was. _You’ll regret this_ , the email said, and Dean already regrets everything he’s ever done in his life, all of it leading up to this moment in the car of someone he cares about who knows he has _whore_ cut into his back. 

Cas punches the number for the gate to open. He doesn’t touch Dean as they go inside. Dean thinks about veering off to his room, the one he hasn’t been in for ages, but ends up seeking the comfort of their nest instead. He collapses, not caring about the pain, not caring about his shoes, not caring about anything. 

Cas kneels next to the bed to look him in the eyes. “I think you’re in shock.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Did he drug you?” 

“I guess.” 

Cas reaches out and strokes Dean’s hair out of his face. Dean manages to keep his eyes open for a long moment, just staring at Cas, trying to think of the way Cas touched him the night before, reverently, like he was something to be cherished. Now Cas looks at him like he’s _nothing_ , Dean thinks. 

“I’m going to get some Neosporin and some bandages,” Cas says. “I’ll be right back.” 

Dean closes his eyes and swims in near-dreams that are trying to turn into nightmares, but Cas is a man of his word and returns quickly to wake him. Cas helps him out of his shirt and Dean sits, Cas crawling in bed behind him. So careful and gentle and sweet, Cas applies goop to Dean’s back, covering the worst of the cuts with bandages. The cane bit into his skin, leaving long lines of scabs, too. He has those on his front, down his thighs, his back, his ass. Huge bruises are coming in underneath, dark and angry. It hurts to sit, but it hurts to lay down, too. 

When Dean lays down, Cas seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Can I, uh, can I take off your shoes?” 

Cas never stutters like that. That’s Dean’s job, to have no idea what he’s trying to say, to be so unsure of himself. “Yeah,” Dean says, not caring. 

Cas makes quick work of the laces and pulls them off, tossing them somewhere onto the floor with twin thumps. After pulling off his own shoes, he moves to lay next to Dean, not touching. 

“Can I hold your hand?” Cas asks quietly. 

Dean stretches his arm into the space between them, and Cas grips his hand tightly. It doesn’t bring the comfort it usually does. Dean doesn’t feel a thing. 

 

Dean wakes up with Cas still holding his hand. Cas is awake, looking at him, not saying anything. 

“Hi,” Dean says, because he feels like he needs to fill the void between them. 

“Hi,” Cas says back. 

“I should make dinner,” Dean says. 

“What? No.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He sits up and stretches before remembering the pain littering his body. He doesn’t cry out, but he wants to. 

“Dean --” 

“I want to, ok?!” Why is he yelling at Cas? Cas didn’t do this to him. 

Cas drops his eyes. “Ok.” 

“Why can’t you act like an alpha for once in your life? Huh, Cas? Look at me!” 

Cas looks up again. “What do you mean?” 

“You never knot me, you never -- you’ve never -- bitten me! And now you’ll never --” Tears come suddenly, and Dean can’t even finish the sentence. _Now you never will._ Now that he’s covered in bites and bleeding from a knot he didn’t want. 

Cas reaches for his face, strokes some of the tears away with his thumb. “No matter what he did to you, you know it doesn’t matter. You know a true mating can’t be forced.” 

“A _true_ mating!” Dean laughs wildly. “If you don’t want me, then I might as well want him. Take me back to my apartment.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, quiet but firm. “All I want is you. You have to know that.” 

“Stop,” Dean says, and Cas goes silent. “Have me, then. My heat’s not over. If you want me, _have me_.” 

“Not like this, Dean.” 

“Come on, alpha!” Dean has never called him _alpha_ before and it makes Dean sick to his stomach. 

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Dean,” Cas says, “you can’t convince me to hurt you.” 

Dean laughs and gets out of bed. Every muscle in his body aches. His torn and sliced skin burns underneath his clothes. At least whatever Whitedemon needled him with has faded enough that he can walk, slowly but effectively. Still, the kitchen seems a million miles away. 

Cas follows after him. “Are you hungry? I can order some food if that’s the case --” 

“I’m here to make you dinner. That’s part of the agreement.” 

Cas shakes his head. “There is no agreement, Dean. It’s just us now.” 

Dean grunts and starts pulling ingredients out of the cabinets and fridge, slamming them down on the counter. Cas stays on the other side of the kitchen island, still standing. 

Dean makes breakfast for dinner. He’s not confused about the time; pancakes are just one of Cas’s favorites. And Dean knows, now, that things will be tenuous between them. Dean has words carved into his skin, and he wants to carve more, slice off chunks of himself, and Cas will never forget the way Dean looks tonight, and Cas will never forgive him for it. 

“Are you making pancakes?” 

Dean gestures at the batter, the bacon frying on the pan, and says, “What do you think?” 

“I love pancakes.” 

“I know.” 

Cas slowly approaches him, like approaching a wild animal, and touches his hand. “You really don’t have to --” 

“Goddammit, I want to!” 

“Ok, sweetheart.” 

Dean shudders. Cas will never call him that again. He wants to savor it but it just makes him feel sicker. He _knows_ he should’ve stopped camming, got a real job, when he met Cas. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for Dean and his stupid decisions. Dean and his greed. 

“I’m not a scared animal,” Dean says. 

“I know,” Cas says. He takes Dean’s hand for real, brings it up to his mouth to kiss his fingers. 

“You don’t have to treat me like -- like I’m _broken_.” 

“I know. Because you’re not. Something happened, and it’s not your fault, and I l-- just want to take care of you.” 

Dean jerks his hand away, flipping the pancakes. “Of course it’s my fault,” he scoffs. “The work I do --” 

“Is meaningless.” 

“He used _my toys._ ” 

“Look at me.” 

“Pancakes will burn.” 

“Then let the pancakes burn.” 

Something in Cas’s voice -- Dean turns to him, spatula in hand. Cas reaches up and cradles Dean’s face in his hands, then stands up tall to kiss him, so gently, on the mouth. 

“You mean so much to me,” Cas says. “You mean everything to me.” 

Dean looks down. “You can’t mean that. Not anymore.” 

 

Neither of them can eat, so Dean ends up putting the whole meal into tupperware for Cas to eat for lunch. Then Dean goes back to their nest, peeling off his jeans -- wincing when they rub against the cuts and bruises on his thighs, on his calves -- and climbs into the bed. He burrows his face into Cas’s smell. All through showering and riding in the car and laying down and making dinner, all he could smell was Whitedemon’s stink, but if he inhales deeply enough in the bed, Cas’s scent fills his lungs. He can even pretend, briefly, that none of this happened. 

Cas fidgets next to the bed. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” 

“Please,” Dean says, tears threatening again, “don’t go.” 

Cas strips down to his boxers and climbs in next to Dean. Cas looks at him without flinching, and he reaches out to gently touch Dean’s face, running his fingers along his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips. Dean presses closer, wanting to mold himself to Cas but kept away by his wounds. His face hurts, too, and maybe will bruise by morning, but he needs Cas to touch him so badly, he doesn’t care at all. 

“Do you think you can sleep?” Cas asks softly. 

Dean has never been more exhausted in his life.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cas leans forward and kisses Dean’s cheek. Dean’s eyes flutter closed. “Do you still,” he starts. “I mean, are you going to kick me out? I know I’m even more disgusting now but --”_
> 
> _“Dean.” Cas has on his alpha voice, firm, a voice that doesn’t allow for disagreements. “I could never ask you to leave.”_

More than once overnight, Dean follows his instinct to move close to Cas, then immediately pulls away when their shirts scratch together against his cuts and bruises. Instead, they hold hands all night, Cas squeezing every time he sees Dean wake. Dean doesn’t think Cas sleeps at all. 

The alarm doesn’t go off and Dean sleeps past sunrise, the first time in ages. Cas is still there, still holding his hand. 

“You’re late for work,” Dean says. 

Cas shakes his head. “You think I’d go to work after…?” 

_After what happened to me_ , Dean thinks. Cas can’t even say it, but neither could Dean, even if he wanted to. Dean just says, “Oh.” 

“Are you hungry? I can warm up the pancakes or make us eggs.” 

“You burn eggs.” 

Cas laughs, though there isn’t a lot of humor in it, and Dean gives him a crooked smile. 

“I’m not hungry anyway.” 

Cas leans forward and kisses Dean’s cheek. Dean’s eyes flutter closed. “Do you still,” he starts. “I mean, are you going to kick me out? I know I’m even more disgusting now but --” 

“Dean.” Cas has on his alpha voice, firm, a voice that doesn’t allow for disagreements. “I could never ask you to leave.” 

“But you won’t knot me,” Dean whispers. He can’t meet Cas’s eyes, and he can’t stop thinking about how little Cas must want him, how his words must be just pretend. Their entire relationship has been built on pretending. 

“We’ve never talked about it. You’ve never asked.” 

“I asked you yesterday!” 

“You’ve never asked outside of heat,” Cas clarifies.

Dean’s voice is almost inaudible: “I need you, too.” 

“We’ll talk about this again when you weren’t just…” 

Dean can hear the end of that sentence, and it makes him shudder all the way into his brain that can’t un-hear it. Nothing happened, he tells himself. Especially not that. 

 

The worst thing is that Dean is still in heat, and he’s still near his alpha, so the need rears its ugly head and he feels himself get slick and he wants to beg, again, for Cas to knot him, but he’s so ashamed of doing it at all, the words won’t make it past his lips. 

“I can’t,” Cas says, as if sensing the question. “I’ll hurt you further.” 

“Cas,” Dean whimpers, and then loses control of his tongue: “Please.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, and his hands are on Dean’s face. “This is the last day. You don’t smell as strong. We can wait it out together.” 

“You’ve said before, you can’t control yourself.” 

“That was different.” 

“I still smell like -- like --”

Cas leans forward, nudging his nose against Dean’s neck. There are circles of teeth marks there, circles all over his body. “You smell like my omega,” Cas says, gently rubbing his cheek against Dean’s. 

“Not like _his_?” 

“Not at all.” 

Cas presses his face back into Dean’s neck and just breathes there for long minutes. Dean says, “Please. Touch me.” 

Cas leaves a gentle kiss over one of the teeth marks. “Where?” 

Dean grabs Cas’s hand and puts it against his dick, where he’s getting hard from his alpha scenting him, getting harder with a hand touching, even without moving. 

“Dean,” Cas starts, then isn’t sure what to say. 

“I need you,” Dean says, voice cracking. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

Cas scents him again, up against his neck, like he’s looking for a lie there, then slides his hand under the waistband of Dean’s underwear. When his hand brushes the tip of Dean’s cock, Dean keens, leaning to press his face against Cas’s neck, licking and sucking the same spot until the skin is mottled red with a bruise. 

Cas says, “You’ve never marked me before.” He’s stroking Dean, slowly, and Dean hitches his hips upward to try for more friction. Cas gives him what he needs, always does. 

“My alpha,” Dean whispers. He feels Cas shiver. 

Dean comes quickly, even though it’s not at all what he needs, even though he wants nothing more than Cas’s dick inside him. Even if it would hurt. He doesn’t care. He says as much to Cas, and Cas just shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss Dean before cleaning them up. 

The day is horrible. Dean’s dick is hard, and he’s all slick, and his alpha won’t fuck him, and he hurts all over. The highlight might be Cas changing his bandages, his hands so tender and gentle, touching Dean’s heat-fevered skin. 

Before bed, they kiss, soft and slow, for a long time, fingers laced together. They sleep close but not touching other than their hands. 

 

The bruises fade after a handful of days, and Cas can touch Dean again, gently, as long as he avoids Dean’s worst fear carved between his shoulderblades. They don’t talk much; Cas is there, but he spends most of the days between his computer and his phone, delegating to his underlings until he can make it back into the office. Dean watches tv and rereads his favorite books and tries not to think about Whitedemon, though all his dreams are nightmares and he wakes up sweating and clinging to Cas several times a night. 

It takes a few days for Dean’s stomach to settle enough to eat again, and then his appetite is voracious, so he spends a couple days cooking and baking far more food than they could ever eat. It would be nice, actually, if there weren’t marks all over Dean’s body stopping him from looking in the mirror, bites and cuts and slices that take longer to heal. 

It’s about halfway through the healing process when Charlie calls. “Dude,” she says, “you have to invite me out to see your new digs.” 

“I can’t right now, Charlie. Sorry.” 

“Well, damn, then come over to my place and we can play a game or something. I just bought --” 

“I can’t right now,” Dean repeats. 

Charlie must hear it in his voice, because she says, “Did something happen? With you and Cas?” 

“No. Cas is… perfect. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you won’t see me.” 

“Let it go,” Dean says. “A couple weeks, then we can hang out.” 

Charlie sounds skeptical. “Ok, Dean, whatever. At least get a PS4 so we can play something together.” 

“Unlikely,” Dean says. Without camming, the money will dry up fast -- he’s always sent most of it to Sam so Sam doesn’t have to work while schooling. 

“Fuck you, then,” Charlie says without heat. Just teasing. But Dean cringes all the same -- he’s been a terrible friend for too long, and he has to fix that. Once he’s healed up. 

The worst part about Dean’s best friend and his brother also being friends is that they can gang up on him, and they outnumber Dean.

Sam calls. “What’s up with you, man?” 

“Everything’s good. How are you?” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Charlie called --”

“Goddammit. It’s none of her business.” Dean sighs. “I guess it’s good you called though -- I have some bad news.” Sam is just silent, waiting, so Dean forges ahead and says, “I lost my job.” 

“Great, Dean. So you show up drunk and --” 

“It’s not like that!” 

“Then what is it like, huh?” 

“I haven’t been drinking,” Dean says, “since Cas. But -- some stuff happened --” 

“Alpha trouble? Because I’ll kill them.” 

Dean forces a laugh. “‘Alpha trouble’ is one way to put it,” he says. “It’s no big deal, though. I’ll find another job. Just might not be immediately. The market is tough out here, you know?” 

“Well,” Sam says, “one thing… Jess and I are moving in together. So rent is getting cut in half.” 

“Finally! Congrats, dude!” 

“Thanks.” Sam sounds a little shy, like he always does when talking about Jess. That girl has done a number on him. Dean wonders if he sounds the same way talking about Cas. 

“When do I get to meet this Jess?” 

“We’ve both got summer classes, but maybe we can drive over during winter break.” 

It’s a long way away, but Dean will take what he can get. “Sure, dude. Just let me know.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Any other alpha’s hackles would rise, any other alpha would get aggressive and maybe even push Dean around a little bit, but Cas doesn’t move and nothing changes about his demeanor. “Dean,” he says, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”_

The bites and cuts heal up, other than the words covered by bandages on his back, leaving behind angry pink scars. 

“They’ll fade fast,” Cas says. “None of them were deep. Your back, too. It won’t be long.” 

Dean still can’t look at himself in the mirror. 

 

One day he explodes at Cas. “How can you stand to look at me?! How can you stand me?!” 

Any other alpha’s hackles would rise, any other alpha would get aggressive and maybe even push Dean around a little bit, but Cas doesn’t move and nothing changes about his demeanor. “Dean,” he says, “how can you ask me that? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Dean points at the worst bite mark on his neck. “But I’m someone else’s now.” 

“No, you aren’t. You didn’t choose that.” 

Dean glares at him. “You don’t want me anymore.” 

“Of course I want you.” 

“Then why aren’t we fucking? You treat me like I’m -- like I’m a porcelain doll or something -- like I’m going to break!” 

Cas tilts his head. Dean usually thinks it’s endearing but right now it’s maddening, the way Cas looks at him, like he can see something underneath his skin. “I didn’t know you wanted to.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Cas shakes his head. “A lot of survivors --”

“Don’t you dare call me that. Don’t you dare.” 

“What happened to you,” Cas says, “a lot of people might not want to be touched.” 

“If you want me, then have me,” Dean says. He’s aware he’s repeating something he’s said before. 

Cas steps close. He kisses Dean. And, maybe for the first time since it happened, their tongues touch. “I want you,” Cas says. “Every day, every minute.” 

Dean bares his neck. “Then take me.” 

“Dean…” 

“God,” Dean says. “Fuck you, Cas.” 

Dean tosses and turns in the extra bedroom that night. 

 

The next day, Cas tip-toes around him even more, not saying a thing as they move around each other to make breakfast and do the dishes. Dean lays out on the couch and is relieved when Cas locks himself up in his office. He’s been working from home since it happened, only going in to the office occasionally for meetings he tells Dean are endless and pointless. 

Dr. Sexy is usually a comfort for Dean, but he can’t get comfortable on the couch, can’t get invested in the characters. He usually cries (not that he would ever admit it) when the love of Dr. Steamy’s life dies, but now he feels nothing. Or maybe he feels everything, all of it just too much to process enough to cry. 

Cas is still too gentle in bed, his hands barely skimming Dean’s skin. “I’m not traumatized,” Dean says. “Not like those stupid books you’ve been reading.” 

Cas looks surprised. “I didn’t know you saw them.” 

“We live together. We never leave. I know everything you do.” 

“This is a good point,” Cas says, smiling. “We do need to get out more.” 

“That wasn’t my point at all,” Dean says. He’s horrified at the idea of someone seeing him like this, still-pink teeth scars on his neck. 

“They’ll think it was me,” Cas says, reading his mind like usual. “They’ll think I just got a little over-excited when we mated.” 

“But we’re not mated.” 

“Do you still want me to knot you?” 

“Why won’t you?” 

“I’ve been waiting until we’re ready for that kind of commitment.” 

“I’m -- Cas,” Dean says. 

Cas kisses him and says, “Let me make love to you.” 

“What?” Dean says, laughing. “‘Make love.’ You get weirder every day.” 

Cas runs a hand down Dean’s ribs and to his hip, gripping tight. “I refuse to fuck you until you refer to it as ‘making love,’” he says. There’s a grin behind his eyes, even if he manages to keep his mouth straight and serious. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Make love to me, Cas, you fucking weirdo.” 

Cas practically tackles him, shoving Dean on his back, crawling on top of him to sit across his hips. He grabs Dean’s hands and holds them over Dean’s head, their fingers woven together and holding tight. 

Cas leans down to kiss Dean, slow and careful and lots of tongue and sparks exploding behind Dean’s eyes, rushing down to his groin until he cants his hips upward, rubbing himself on Cas through their clothes. 

“Let me take care of you,” Cas says, and something else sparks in Dean, something that stays in his chest. This is his favorite thing that Cas says during sex. 

They kiss forever and at some point their clothes are off and Cas leaves Dean’s lips to kiss down his neck, to kiss down his chest, not paying attention to the bite scars at all. Dean tilts his chin down to watch the way Cas worships his body, wet kisses all over his stomach and to his hipbones, biting gently. By the time Cas makes it to Dean’s cock, Dean is leaking slick and pre-come steadily, moaning Cas’s name, moaning nonsense, asking for his mouth. 

Cas doesn’t disappoint. He runs his tongue up the underside of Dean’s cock, stopping to lick and suck at the spot just under the head that drives Dean crazy, then sinks his mouth down on him an inch at a time. Cas moans the first moment he tastes Dean and Dean feels it all the way to his core. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean says, “please please please.” He’s begging for nothing, because Cas is doing exactly what he wants, moving up and down, sucking hard, one hand with fingers still laced through Dean’s and the other cupping and squeezing at Dean’s balls. 

Just when Dean is really going crazy, Cas pulls off. Dean whines low in his throat and pushes his hips up, chasing Cas’s mouth. “You don’t get to come yet,” Cas says. “You’re going to come with me inside you.” 

This is the best thing Dean’s heard in ages. “Yes, god, please.” 

Cas grins, a little feral and very alpha, and Dean shivers. Dean opens his mouth, but before he can beg more, Cas is spreading Dean’s thighs wider and sliding his cock all the way home. Dean cries out and for once isn’t embarrassed of it.

“You feel -- you feel --” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Cas says. “You feel so good too.” 

“So good” doesn’t even begin to cover it, but Dean is incoherent as Cas starts to fuck him, just the way he likes, slow but hard, so he can feel every place they are touching, so he can savor the intensity of Cas’s love-making. 

Dean is close to coming, and Cas must see it in his eyes because he pauses the movement of his hips, cock deep inside Dean but not moving. “Don’t stop,” Dean whimpers. 

“You don’t get to come yet,” Cas says. 

“Please, Cas.” 

Cas shakes his head and smiles and starts fucking Dean again once he can see he’s coming down from the cliff. He keeps up the slow-hard pace, rubbing against the spot inside Dean that makes him see stars with every stroke, and it doesn’t take long until Dean is so close again he’s begging in earnest, not ashamed at all, just wanting Cas. He’s never felt this kind of need outside his heat. 

Dean can tell Cas is getting close, too, from the way his eyelashes flutter and he bites at his lip and his hips stutter every now and then. Dean wants to remember the way Cas looks forever. 

Dean has came without his cock being touched plenty of times before, but Cas wraps a hand around him anyway, the other hand bracing himself up next to Dean’s head so they can kiss. It’s only a handful of strokes before Dean is coming with deep moans, shaking through it, the orgasm lasting longer than he thought possible. 

Cas starts fucking him a little faster, finding his rhythm, and then he’s growling and his knot is catching on Dean’s rim and then he shoves forward as he comes, and his knot is tying them together, and Dean is coming again. “Cas Cas Cas,” he’s saying, hands gripping in Cas’s hair to pull him down for a long, wet kiss. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, pressing his forehead against Dean’s, his eyes closed. He’s shaking, too, Dean realizes, and Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and nuzzles against his neck, consoling. 

A little awkwardly, they adjust so they are laying next to each other, Dean’s leg thrown over Cas’s hips, and they kiss and kiss and kiss, Cas occasionally rocking so his cock presses deeper into Dean, so the knot pulls against him, and they both gasp. 

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” Cas whispers. 

“Me either,” Dean says. 

“You can feel it, can’t you? Can smell it on me? Like the scent bond but… more?” 

Dean puts his face against Cas’s neck, even though he already knows the answer. “Yeah, Cas, yeah.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You want me to move in?”_
> 
> _“Aren’t you kind of already? When was the last time you spent a night somewhere else?”_
> 
> _“Can’t remember.” Dean picks at a nail. “But…”_

It _is_ different. Every touch, every look, is charged in a way it hadn’t been before. They can’t stop touching each other, making out against the kitchen counter, Cas’s head in Dean’s lap on the couch, closer than Dean would’ve thought possible at night. And they fuck all the time, on every surface in the house, and Cas knots Dean every time. 

Cas has been cajoling him to go out but he won’t, not with the worst of the scars on his neck still dark pink. Dean is plenty happy to just stay home, on a gated property, a place he feels safe. Outside, alphas lurk around every corner. 

Poking at the last of his dinner, Dean says, “There’s some things I need from my apartment.” 

Cas takes a long time to answer. “Do you want me to go with you?” 

Dean has a really hard time asking. “Will you?” 

“Of course. Maybe we should just pack up all of your stuff and bring it here.” 

Dean’s eyes jerk to Cas’s and he kind of gapes. “You want me to move in?” 

“Aren’t you kind of already? When was the last time you spent a night somewhere else?” 

“Can’t remember.” Dean picks at a nail. “But…” 

Cas looks down. “But,” he says quietly. “There’s always a ‘but.’” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Dean says. 

Cas looks at him again, kind of smiling. “That’s your hesitation? That you think you aren’t enough for me?” He gets out of his seat and swings his leg over Dean’s lap, settling himself with arms around Dean’s neck. “You’re everything I want.” 

Dean is thinking about the word on his back, how he can’t let Cas fuck him in ways that he could see it. “But --” 

Cas cuts him off with a kiss. “But nothing. I knew the moment I saw you. If bond-at-first-sight were possible, I felt it.” 

Dean closes his eyes, unable to see the honesty in Cas’s eyes. 

“Look at me.” 

Dean opens his eyes, but mostly looks off to the side. 

“Look at me,” Cas says again, and Dean does. Cas’s eyes are so blue. Up close, Dean can’t smell anything but Cas, the soaring spring smell of him. “Dean Winchester, you are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, and it’s only because you can’t tell how in love with you I am.” 

Dean sucks in a breath, staring at Cas without blinking. “You’re…? No.” 

“Yes.” Cas smiles crookedly. “I hadn’t decided how to tell you, but now is as good of a time as any.” Dean has no idea what to say, so he’s glad Cas says, “You don’t have to say anything,” and then kisses him, full and sweet. 

 

Since Whitedemon, the only thing keeping Dean from drinking is his fear of leaving Cas’s house. They don’t even keep cooking wine in the house -- and Dean checks every corner of every cabinet to try to find anything, _anything_ , with alcohol in it, even looking for cough syrup he could gulp, like the fucking alcoholic he is. Cas must not get sick often because there isn’t any. 

Cas catches him looking, Dean on his knees and head shoved in a lower cabinet. “What are you looking for?” Cas says. 

Dean startles and bangs his head. “Shit,” he says. 

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Cas says, but Dean can hear a laugh in his voice. 

Dean comes out from under the cabinet rubbing the back of his head and glaring. “I was just -- making sure --” He can’t come up with anything good. “Just looking,” he says. 

“Did you want to pack up your apartment today?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Though I’d rather…” He reaches and grabs Cas’s belt loops, pulling him closer, and kisses Cas’s belly over his shirt. 

Cas laughs, reaching down to touch Dean’s hair. “Later,” he says. 

Dean feels safe with Cas, so he’s not particularly concerned about this task until they start circling upwards in the parking garage, and then it suddenly seems like he can’t catch his breath. Cas holds his hand and rubs a thumb over his knuckles and watches him carefully. 

“I can take care of this,” Cas says, “you don’t have to be here.” 

“I’m fine,” Dean insists. 

He parks as close to the building as possible, takes a deep breath, and hopes they won’t run into anyone on the way in. The walk down the hallway seems impossibly long, even though he’s only a handful of doors down, and then they are standing outside the door to his apartment. Cas is holding his hand again, but Dean has to pull away to unlock the door. 

In the door, the first thing that assaults them is the smell of left-out Chinese food. There are flies. “Gross,” Cas says, and shoves the food into the trashcan while Dean stands in the doorway. 

On the floor in the kitchen is a length of rope. The couch has smears of blood on it. Dean walks into the bedroom, an intense sense of unreality following him, like he’s above his body, watching it move, watching it look at the bloody sheets and the used toys and the rope and the gag and everything else, even the normal stuff, that smells like Whitedemon. 

“Dean?” Cas says, and Dean is suddenly back in his own body.

Except he can’t breathe, and he’s convinced he’s having a heart attack, clutching a hand to his chest. 

“Dean, Dean,” Cas says, filling his vision, taking his hands. “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe.” 

Dean manages to take in a single harsh breath. “I can’t,” he gasps out, “Cas, I can’t --” 

“It’s ok,” Cas says. “We don’t have to do this.” 

Cas turns Dean around and guides him with a hand on his lower back to the door, out into the hallway. Dean leans his forehead against the wall, gasping. Cas stands behind him, rubbing his arms, whispering nothing against his ear, just giving Dean the calm of his voice. 

Long minutes until Dean can turn around. Cas is right there, touching him, stroking his face, staring at him with those endless eyes. “Are you ok?” 

“Do I look ok?” 

“Better than a minute ago, though?” 

Dean nods minutely. 

“I can take care of this later,” Cas says. 

Dean wonders what Cas is thinking, if he’s regretting what he said to Dean. If he’s regretting _loving_ Dean. “I just want my books. And my computer. And tapes,” Dean says. “I can go back in and --” 

“I can grab them. Do you want to wait in the car?” 

Dean wants to be near his alpha, but he goes out to the car anyway while Cas collects some things from the apartment. Dean still feels like he can’t catch his breath, like he’s been punched in the chest. The places where his wrists were tied together burn, and knowing it’s all inside his head doesn’t make the pain less. 

It only takes Cas ten minutes to pack up the important stuff, and then he’s back in the car. He leans across the seat and kisses Dean. 

Leaving the parking garage feels final. Once they’re out in the open air with the windows down, Dean can breathe again.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cas gives him a quick kiss and says, “I adore you.”_
> 
> _“Stop,” Dean says, blushing._
> 
> _“No,” Cas says, grinning. “I adore you, I adore you, I adore you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to superhoney's morning tea ;) (yes, the tea, not superhoney themselves)

Dean wears shirts to bed now, in case they end up like this, with Cas’s chest pressed against his back and arm wrapped around him. When he thinks Dean is asleep, Cas whispers “I love you” against the back of his neck. 

Dean wonders if he’s done this before and if so, how often. Dean doesn’t know how he should feel about it. He’s embarrassed and shy and confused and a little terrified that Cas might mean it. It’s bad enough that they scent bonded, and then Cas knotted him, and they are living together, but now Cas _loves_ him? No one besides family has ever loved Dean before. 

Dean rolls over to face Cas, even if there’s nothing to see in the dark. Cas startles and Dean can hear the blush in his voice. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

“It’s ok,” Dean whispers back. 

“It’s true,” Cas says. 

Dean chews on his bottom lip. He opens his mouth to respond, but Cas cuts him off. “Please don’t say anything, I know you want to argue.” 

“No,” Dean says finally, “I -- I really don’t.” 

 

Cas receives an Amazon package in the mail and tosses it to Dean. Inside is scar removal cream. “It’s supposed to be the best,” Cas says, though he looks unsure. Like he doesn’t know how Dean will respond. 

Dean stares at it. He hasn’t let Cas see the words on his back since the bandages came off, and he can’t reach himself to put the cream on. “You’d have to help me.” 

“Yes,” Cas says. “Are you ok with that?” 

“Does it really work?” 

“I’m not sure. I think it’ll help at least a little. We can put it on your neck, too.” 

“We’d have to cover me with it,” Dean says, looking away. 

“You know I don’t care, right? I think you’re perfect.” 

Dean shakes his head. “You’re so -- you’re so great, and I’ve just been…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He wants to such _I’ve been such a whore_ , but the word won’t come out of his mouth, he knows. It makes him feel sick to even think it. 

“Dean, I hope that someday you’ll really stop believing you’re a bad person and accept that I love the _good_ person you are.” 

“You make me feel that way,” Dean says, “like I might not be so bad.” 

Cas steps close, weaves his fingers with Dean’s and kisses each of his knuckles in turn. “If I say it more, will you believe it faster? You’re so good, Dean, so good.” 

“Let’s, um, try this stuff,” Dean says. Deflecting. 

Cas smiles like he knows exactly what Dean is doing. He takes the tube of cream from Dean and points to one of the stools at the island in the kitchen. “Sit. Take off your shirt.” 

Dean hesitates, but pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the counter. His shoulders are so tense it hurts. 

Cas doesn’t react, just squeezes the bottle and starts rubbing cold cream over Dean’s back. He doesn’t trace the words like Dean expects him to, like Dean is dreading, but just smears it all over. “They’ve faded a lot already,” Cas says. Dean wouldn’t know; he won’t look at them in the mirror. “We took good care of them so they’ve healed nicely.” 

“Aren’t you disgusted?” 

Cas sounds surprised. “What? No. Do you feel disgusting?”

Dean is quiet. “Yeah.” 

Cas kisses the back of Dean’s neck. “Give it a minute to soak in before you put your shirt back on,” he says. 

Dean turns around, facing Cas so he can’t see them anymore. “My neck?” 

“They look good, too,” Cas says. He’s gentle while he attends to the scars. Most of them are invisible now, but there’s one really bad one that still stands out a glaring white against Dean’s skin. 

Once Dean is gooped up, Cas gives him a quick kiss and says, “I adore you.” 

“Stop,” Dean says, blushing. 

“No,” Cas says, grinning. “I adore you, I adore you, I adore you.” 

 

It’s not long before Dean decides the bite marks have faded enough for him to leave the house, but that doesn’t stop him from shying away from alphas they encounter on their little trips. They go to the grocery store together; they go to Target and Dean doesn’t admit how much he likes the Hello Kitty stuff; they go to the movies and Dean loses his mind at the new Star Wars flicks; they do regular people things, go on regular people dates, and Dean can’t get enough of people thinking -- knowing? -- that he belongs to Cas. 

The only thing is, Dean needs a job, and he doesn’t have that many skills. He can fix cars, but that’s an environment loaded with alpha stink, and he’s not sure he can handle that, even if he smells like he’s mated. The idea of going back to camming makes him literally puke the moment he opens Omega Live on his computer to check if he has any leftover earnings to collect. 

“I’m applying at some garages,” he tells Cas. 

Cas looks away from his computer, brows furrowed. “For what?” 

“A job,” Dean says, using his _duh_ voice. 

“Why?” 

“What do you mean, ‘why’? I can’t sit around here forever.” 

“You could volunteer. There are plenty of organizations that are ran by omegas --” 

“Goddammit, Cas, I don’t like charity. And you’ve given me way too much of it.” 

“I take care of my m-- the person I love,” Cas says. 

Dean knows he almost said _mate_. He savors it. It almost distracts him from the point. “Well, I have to take care of Sam.” 

Cas nods slowly. “Are you sure about a garage?” 

“What else am I going to do? Strip? I don’t have a lot of marketable skills,” Dean says. 

Cas searches his eyes. “You could go to school.” 

“I just said I don’t want your charity!” 

“There are loans.” 

“Yeah, and I’ll be owing money on Sam’s before long.” 

“Someday he’ll have to pay his own way, too,” Cas says, tilting his head. “He’ll be able to get a job once he’s finished with school and pay those himself.” 

“I promised him,” Dean says, “that I would get him through. I’m just going to look on craigslist for a mechanic job.” 

“You restored the Impala, right? Maybe you could go into restoration.” 

Dean looks down at his hands. “Maybe.” 

Cas leans over and nuzzles the soft spot behind Dean’s ear. “Whatever you want,” he says, “I’m here for you.” 

 

When Dean calls Bobby to ask for a reference, Bobby doesn’t even ask what he’s been doing since he was let go from Bobby’s shop and left Kansas to drown himself in drink. He just asks why Dean doesn’t call more often, tells him in his own gruff way that he loves Dean, and they hang up after a handful of minutes. It’s like nothing ever happened between them. 

Part of the problem is that Dean doesn’t have a good answer when applications ask where he’s been working for the last several years. He ends up implying -- not admitting -- that he’s been staying home to take care of his mate, which is at least partially true, and the fourth garage he applies at decides to hire him with a ninety day probationary period. 

“I don’t usually hire omegas,” Rufus says, “just causes trouble. But I know Bobby Singer, and anyone Bobby calls family, I call family. Welcome aboard, son.” 

He’s not lying: Dean is the only omega. There’s a couple betas, but it’s mostly alphas, and the smell is overwhelming in a bad way, and Dean finds himself hiding in the bathroom texting Cas during his first break. 

_i can’t do this 2 many alphas_

_You can. I believe in you._

_idk cas_

_I love you._

Dean can’t respond to that, still won’t really admit to himself that it might be true. Bobby saying it is one thing -- they are family, even though they aren’t blood. And maybe Cas is starting to wiggle himself into being _family_ , too, but it terrifies Dean more than the alphas he’s surrounded by. 

But overall, the first day goes well, and so does the second. A big beta named Benny kind of takes Dean under his wing, introducing him around and inviting him to have a beer after their shift ends. Dean declines at first -- “no worries, brother,” Benny says -- but finally runs out of excuses to avoid it after a few weeks. Only Benny, his mate, and Ash can make it anyway, so Dean isn’t too terrified. Ash and Andrea are both alphas but neither of them have that aggressive smell under their skin like some of the other alphas at the shop. 

_goin 4 a beer, b home later_ , Dean sends Cas. _i’ll still make dinnr_

_We can order in._

Dean hasn’t been in a bar since the last happy hour with Cas, which didn’t exactly go well, but at least this bar is more his scene -- a rundown hole in the wall with no windows and cheap drinks. Benny offers to buy drinks all around but Dean manages to decline and stick with a single beer. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

“You better bring your mate next time,” Benny says. “I want to meet the girl that’s stole your heart.” 

Dean looks down at his hands and grumbles and says he’ll try. “He works a lot.” 

“Sorry, brother. Didn’t realize you swing that way.” 

Dean bristles but says nothing. 

It’s Andrea that speaks up. “It’s not a problem, doll. Ash will do just about anyone, two legs or not. I can’t say I’ve never encouraged him to pick someone and settle down, but it don’t matter girl, boy, or other.” 

Dean excuses himself after nursing the single beer as long as he can. He claps Benny and Ash on the back and hugs Andrea like she insists, her sweet smell filling his nostrils. They all smell so different than what he expects after Whitedemon, but none of them bring anything close to the comfort he gets from Cas’s smell all over him. 

That night Dean lets Cas fuck him from behind, leaving kisses all over his spine and shoulder blades and the back of his arms. Afterwards Cas holds him much longer than they are tied together, still leaving kisses, murmuring sweet things Dean can’t remember later but that feel even better than the sex.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Remember,” Dean says against Cas’s mouth, “when you thought sex was a distraction?”_
> 
> _“Remember,” Cas says back, “when you’d never been with an alpha?”_

Dean won’t let himself sleep. He has nightmares -- not every night, but most nights, and this was a bad one. He dreamed it was Cas instead of Whitedemon hurting him, and he he had to dry heave over the toilet when he woke. It’s true that Cas has written himself into Dean’s skin, but only with kind words, kind touches. 

“You ok?” Cas asks groggily, reaching across the distance between him. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Dean says. 

Cas moves close, shoving his face into Dean’s bicep and holding his hand. “Dreams?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want me to sing to you?” Cas says. 

This is an old joke between them -- Cas sings just about as good as Dean does, which is to say, terribly -- and Dean huffs a laugh. He reaches over and runs a hand through Cas’s hair, then turns to kiss his forehead. 

After awhile still staring up at the ceiling, Dean says, “I dreamed it was you.” 

Cas stiffens next to him and Dean knows he’s truly awake now. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispers into the night. 

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says. He kisses Cas’s forehead again, then turns fully to wrap Cas up in his arms, to scent his hair, to feel the warm skin where he knows Cas’s tattoos are. 

Cas tilts his head to kiss Dean’s chin, then finds his mouth by feel alone, and they kiss sleepily. “I’m going to start some coffee,” Cas says. 

“It’s the middle of the night.” 

Cas checks his phone, says, “Close, but you know I’m not going to let you just lay here alone.” 

Dean is so fucking grateful for this wonderful man that he doesn’t deserve that his eyes get wet and his lip even trembles a little bit. He waits in the dark for the feeling to subside before joining Cas in the kitchen. 

They sit up the rest of the night drinking coffee and playing Fluxx. Just before dawn, Dean says, “My tattoo.” 

Cas glances up from his hand. “Yes?” 

“You said it was ugly.” 

Cas pulls a face. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“It’s ok,” Dean says, “it kind of is. It’s not like yours.” 

“But it means something to you. That’s the important thing.” 

“My mom gave Sam and I these little necklaces, amulet type things, you know? With this symbol. It’s supposed to be anti-possession, some kind of witchcraft thing, I guess.” 

“Anti-possession, like the Exorcist? Demons, the devil?” 

“He called himself ‘white demon,’” Dean says, “so I guess it didn’t work.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cas says. He reaches across the table to run his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone, like wiping away tears that aren’t there. 

Dean lays his cards down. “Can we go to the couch for a little bit? I just need -- I need --” After all this time, he still can’t say, _I need you to touch me._ But all he wants is Cas’s hands on him forever, erasing all the other hands that have touched him, erasing all the scars. 

They go to the couch and Dean curls up in Cas’s arms, making himself as small as he feels. Cas kisses his cheeks and then presses his face into Dean’s hair. Very, very quietly, Cas says, “I love you.” 

“I can’t say it, Cas, I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” Cas says, smiling. “It’s ok.” 

 

Being back at work, working with his hands, is liberating. Dean comes home every evening to scrub grease out from under his fingernails and try to shower off the smell of motor oil before Cas comes home, and they make dinner together, and they kiss and touch and smile and laugh and Dean feels something blooming so huge inside him, it doesn’t have anywhere to go but explode outwards. He can tell Cas feels it, too, and even with all the nightmares, even with the scars, he’s never been so happy. 

Rufus is so pleased with Dean’s work that he offers him a full-time position after just a month, and eventually even the most obnoxiously omega-negative alphas come around. His work speaks for itself, even if he doesn’t say much around them. 

“Benny invited us over,” Dean says to Cas. “Him and Andrea are going to barbeque.” 

“This weekend?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Perfect. I’ll pencil it in between all my plans for fucking you senseless.” 

Dean blushes. Somehow Cas can still make him do that. 

Cas doesn’t disappoint, either: as soon as they’ve ordered dinner on Friday night, he attacks Dean with tongue-filled kisses, hands making quick work of their clothes. Cas grabs Dean’s hips and pulls him across his lap, his chin tilted upwards to not lose the kiss. 

In a break to breathe, Cas says, “Ride my cock, sweetheart,” and Dean almost dies right on the spot. 

Still, they just grind against each other for awhile, dicks wet and sliding together easily, trading breathless little moans. Cas is always the patient one, so it’s eventually Dean who grabs Cas’s cock and guides it home. 

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s middle and Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and they keep kissing while they rock together, not even thrusting, just feeling. Dean has never wanted anything more than this moment, right here: perfect alpha who loves him, perfect alpha who he… something, he definitely feels _something,_ even if he’s not ready to say the scariest word in the English language yet.

“Remember,” Dean says against Cas’s mouth, “when you thought sex was a distraction?” 

“Remember,” Cas says back, “when you’d never been with an alpha?” 

“Things change,” Dean says, nuzzling down to kiss and bite at Cas’s neck, leaving a mark just before the beginning of his shoulders. He wants the world to see it and know that Cas is his. 

“Food will be here in forty-five,” Cas says. 

“Are you telling me to hurry up?” 

“Not at all. They can wait at the gate all night for all I care.” 

Dean grins, but starts to ride Cas’s cock anyway, sliding himself up so only the tip is breaching his hole and then back down so he can feel every electric inch of Cas, inside him, against him, touching him. 

Cas reaches between them, uses pre-come to wet the way down Dean’s cock, and strokes him along with Dean’s rhythm. Dean comes first and only feels a little guilty, but then Cas’s knot is catching and Dean grinds down, deep and dirty, only to feel the hot throbs of Cas coming inside him. 

“God,” Dean says, chest heaving. 

“So fucking good,” Cas agrees. 

Cas pulls Dean down into another hot, wet kiss. They keep kissing, languidly, until Cas’s knot goes down and they separate. Dean’s knees crack and he groans as he flops backwards onto the couch. 

“You’re paying to clean that upholstery,” Cas says. 

“Get a goddamn leather couch,” Dean says, “like a normal person.” 

Cas pulls Dean’s feet across his lap and reaches to massage his aching thighs. Dean throws an arm across his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at the pure normalcy of the scene. How could he ever deserve something so pure and good?


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, we’re not --” Dean starts, then remembers the bite mark on his neck that is still visible if someone looks hard enough and closes his mouth._
> 
> _Of course Meg notices, and she points at it. “What happened to your first mate?”_

“Cas-ti-el,” Benny repeats, the name sounding strange in his rogue Cajun mouth. 

“Cas is fine,” Cas says, and Dean grins. Cas told him once that Dean was the first person he let shorten his name that way, though his brothers still insist on calling him “Cassie” like the children they are inside. 

“Cas it is,” Benny says, and shakes Cas’s hand roughly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Cas says. 

“Let me introduce you to everyone else,” Dean says, and he grabs Cas’s hand, feeling proud to be there with him, with his _partner_. 

Cas is overly polite with everyone, like he’s at a business meeting and not a barbeque full of friends and a cheap keg, and Benny introduces them both to the friends Dean doesn’t know, and Dean denies a beer while Cas has more than one, enough to relax and kiss Dean’s neck as an excuse to scent him. 

They sit next to each other in lawn chairs, and before long a mated couple -- Meg from work, and her mate, Ruby -- sit next to them with interest. They are both gorgeous enough to be used to a lot of attention, but they probably get more attention for being an alpha-alpha pair. 

“I’m sure you’re curious,” Ruby says. 

“Not really,” Dean says. “It’s not my business.” 

Cas says, “How did you meet?” 

“We scent-bonded at HEB,” Meg says. Her and Ruby share a secret smile, a lover’s smile, and Dean looks away from the intimacy of it. He wonders if he and Cas have special smiles. 

“That _is_ interesting,” Cas says. 

“How long have you two been mated?” 

“Oh, we’re not --” Dean starts, then remembers the bite mark on his neck that is still visible if someone looks hard enough and closes his mouth. 

Of course Meg notices, and she points at it. “What happened to your first mate?” 

Ruby elbows her. “You’re so rude.” 

Dean can’t think of anything to say, but luckily, Cas is there. He says, “There was a car crash.” 

Meg looks properly abashed and Ruby gives her a Look. “Well,” Ruby says, “now that we’ve properly drudged up your worst memories, we should probably get some food.” 

“It was nice to meet you,” Dean says. He tries to sound like he means it. 

Cas squeezes his hand, and he’s looking at Dean in a way that Dean recognizes now is a secret look between the two of them. Dean schools his face to say that he’s fine, but he really wants a beer. Really, really wants one. Cas must be able to sense it because he switches to Coke, too, though he drinks diet like a pretentious fuck. 

Benny sure doesn’t disappoint with the food. They stuff themselves silly, and eventually Cas even stops with his Business Casual interactions, loosening up enough to smile openly and even laugh a little with Ash, who entertains them with a lengthy story of why he’s not able to work in the computer industry anymore. “I’ve been known to hack some pretty rad sites,” he says, and taps his bottle against Cas’s Diet Coke in a “cheers” motion. 

The party is mixed -- alphas, betas, and omegas -- but not once does Dean feel afraid, not once does he feel like he can’t breathe. These are what alphas are supposed to be: just like everyone else, not thinking with nothing but their knot. Cas is special, but he’s not the only one. 

When Dean asks after one of the alphas from work that’s not in attendance, Benny claps him on the shoulder and says, “Just not my type, brother.” 

 

In the car, Cas climbs across the seat to steal a kiss, and then another. Dean grabs the back of his head, wrapping fingers in his hair, and keeps him close to deepen the kisses. They’re still in Benny’s driveway but Dean wants nothing more than to get Cas naked _right now_ and do terrible things to him. 

Cas can sense it, because he says, “You can wait until we get home,” but he keeps kissing Dean like he doesn’t mean it. 

“Or we can get in the back seat.” 

Dean kiss-sucks at Cas’s neck, at a mark he left there the night before, breathing deep to fill his lungs with the scent of Cas, the smell of _mate-mate-mate._ He has to remind himself, painfully, that they aren’t actually mates and probably never will be. _Love_ , maybe, but love is not the same as _always_. 

They go to bed early. Cas sits back on his heels and pulls Dean half into his lap to fuck him fast and hard, until Dean’s eyes roll back in his head and he’s begging to come. Sometimes Cas plays a game where he won’t let Dean come for what feels like a million years, stopping the movement of his hips every time Dean gets close, but that’s not the case tonight -- he keeps hitting that spot inside Dean that lights him up, and Dean comes with his cock untouched. 

WIth Cas’s knot holding them together, they kiss slow and sexy, long enough that Dean starts to get hard again. “Greedy tonight, are we?” Cas says with a laugh in his voice. 

“You promised to fuck me senseless all weekend,” Dean says. 

“Mm,” Cas says, grinding into Dean. “You’re so gorgeous like this.” 

Dean turns his head away, face flushed. “Stop, Cas,” he says. 

“You can’t escape,” Cas says, leaning down to mouth at Dean’s neck, “so I get to tell you how beautiful you are as much as I want. And,” he’s whispering now, “how much I love you.” 

“Please, Cas,” Dean says. “Don’t.” 

Cas does pause, just nuzzling against Dean’s jaw. “Do you really hate it that much?” 

“I --” Dean doesn’t know what to say, because Cas sounds hurt, and it makes him nauseous to think of hurting Cas. Barely audible, Dean says, “I don’t hate it.” 

“You just don’t think you deserve it.” 

Dean can’t say it again because he wants Cas so badly it’s like pain sometimes and he’s selfish enough to cling to him, even if he really doesn’t deserve it. 

“Just let me love you,” Cas says. 

Dean licks his lips. He can’t meet Cas’s eyes, but he says, “Ok, Cas. Ok.” 

Still, when they separate, Dean doesn’t invite Cas to join him in the shower. Instead, he stands under the burning hot water alone, trying to wrap his head around Cas. Cas’s love. The way he and Cas smell together. 

Even though he’s not delirious with hormones or just delirious with how good Cas is in bed, Dean still wants a bite. He reaches up and touches the place on his shoulder he thinks Cas would bite him, a secret place, and it feels like something is missing. 

Out of the shower, Dean finds Cas with his arm over his eyes. “I’ve upset you,” Cas says. 

“No, I’m just -- I don’t know, Cas.” 

Cas’s arm comes down and he looks at Dean with one of those intense searching looks of his. 

Dean looks down. Says quietly, “I want you to bite me.” 

Cas’s eyebrows go up. “You want me to bite you,” he repeats. 

“It’s ok if you don’t want to --” 

“If you really think I might not want to, then I don’t think we’re ready.” 

Dean flinches backwards. The specific content of Cas’s words don’t matter; it feels like a rejection all the same. 

He turns away, rubs the towel through his hair, and gets dressed in a hurry.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Charlie’s face goes grave and she says, “If you hurt him again, I will hack all your bank accounts and take all your money, and then I’ll kill you.”_

All healed up and schedules aligning, Dean invites Charlie to come over for a Star Wars marathon and dinner. The lasagna was a hit, so Dean whips some up along with a Caesar salad. Even in small, silly ways, Cas has changed him. 

Dean texts Charlie the code to get in the gate. When Dean answers the door, she looks a little overwhelmed, but throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek. “This house is… wow, Dean.” 

“Yeah, it’s a little much. But it’s home.” 

Cas appears in the hallway and Dean pulls him over by his hand. “Charlie, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is my best friend in the world, Charlie.” 

Cas offers a hand to shake, but Charlie launches herself at him for a big hug. Cas looks shocked and a little confused. 

Separating from him, Charlie’s face goes grave and she says, “If you hurt him again, I will hack all your bank accounts and take all your money, and then I’ll kill you.” 

Cas’s eyes widen. “Noted,” he says. “Dually.” 

“Give me the tour,” she demands of Dean. 

Dean takes her around the house, ending up outside. “Wait, there’s a hot tub?!” Charlie says. She punches Dean in the arm. “We really are best friends now.” 

Dean laughs and punches her back. “There are perks to dating a guy who makes too much money.” 

“‘Dating’? Come on, Dean. I’m not blind or stupid,” Charlie says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you’re living together, for one thing. And the bond between you is so strong -- you didn’t go and get mated and not tell me, did you?” 

“Nah,” Dean says. 

“That looks like a bite,” she says, pointing at his neck.

Reflexively, Dean covers up the scar with his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oooook,” Charlie says. 

They go back inside to find Cas putting the lasagna in the oven. “Thirty minutes, right?” he asks Dean. 

“Make it twenty-five and then we’ll check it out.” 

Cas nods, gives a small smile to Charlie, and sets the timer on the microwave. “So. Star Wars,” Cas says. “I’ve never seen it.” 

Dean and Charlie were starting to chatter again, but they both go silent and stare at Cas with their mouths open. Charlie finds her voice first. “You’ve… never seen Star Wars?” 

“I’ve never had the occasion.” 

“How are we -- who even are you?” Dean says. 

“A person who’s never seen Star Wars?” 

“We’re going to rectify this immediately,” Charlie says. “Like, right this second. Scoot.” 

Dean fiddles with the ridiculously complicated DVD player and gets A New Hope going. Charlie and Dean can’t help quoting along all the good parts, grinning at each other, while Cas sits straight-backed and concentrated. It’s weird to be so near him but not actually touching. 

At some point Dean lays his hand on Cas’s knee, and Cas gives him a grateful smile. Of course, Charlie notices, and she waggles her eyebrows at Dean suggestively. “Shut up,” Dean says. 

“I didn’t say a thing.” 

They make it through all three of the originals, eating lasagna on the couch, and all three of them are slumped down with hands on their bellies by the time the movies are over. As the credits of Return of the Jedi roll, Cas says, “That was very enlightening. Thank you.” 

Charlie and Dean laugh. “Enlightening? More like a religious epiphany,” Charlie says. 

“Of course. That’s what I meant,” Cas says.

Dean and Cas share their secret lover’s smile. 

 

“Charlie is a lot,” Dean says in bed. Then, shyly: “I hope you liked her.” 

“She is a lot,” Cas says, “and I did like her a lot, too.” 

“And you better have liked Star Wars, or we’re breaking up.” 

“I better move out then,” Cas says solemnly. 

Dean sits up and half tackles, half tickles him, and Cas squirms away so violently he falls off the bed. “Goddammit, Dean!” he says, but they both are laughing, and Dean throws himself over the side of the bed, too, in commiseration. 

On the floor, Cas is trying to get up, but Dean pushes him back down and straddles his hips. In a move Cas does all the time, Dean grabs his hands and holds them over his head, their fingers laced together. Cas wiggles like he’s trying to get away, but not hard at all, and he gives up when Dean leans down to kiss him. It’s a quick kiss, and then Dean breaks away from Cas’s mouth to gently kiss his chin, and the point of his nose, and each of his eyebrows, each of his cheeks, his forehead just below his hairline. 

Dean goes to his neck, biting with dull omega teeth, says, “Want you so bad, Cas,” and hopes Cas knows he doesn’t just mean sexually. 

Cas tilts his chin upwards to bare his neck. Dean thrills at the submissive move -- the _trusting_ move -- and bites along Cas’s throat. 

Face pressed into Cas’s neck, breathing nothing but the summer solstice smell of him, Dean feels brave. “Cas,” he whispers, so quiet he’s not even sure if Cas can hear him, “Love you.” 

Cas does hear him, because he sucks in a sudden breath. “Dean,” he murmurs, and then he’s surging upward for a kiss, hands breaking away from Dean’s to cradle Dean’s face. Cas is smiling so hard they can’t kiss properly, and Dean can’t help but smile back, so they just trade little presses of their mouths against each other. 

Cas pulls back, but not far -- their foreheads rest against each other and Cas says, “I love you too.”

“Want you so bad,” Dean repeats. “More than anything.” 

Cas kisses him again, this time able to tame his smile at least enough for a real kiss, a slow and sweet kiss, and Dean whimpers against the tenderness of it. No one has ever kissed him the way Cas does: with such promise, with such loving purpose. Dean never could have imagined a kiss that feels like an _I love you_. 

Cas slides his hands under Dean’s shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the side. “Back in the bed,” he says, not using his commanding voice. Since the thing that happened, Cas uses his alpha voice less and Dean could never find the words to thank him for this. 

Dean gets up, holds out a hand to help Cas to his feet. Dean collapses backwards in the bed -- still hides his back from Cas’s eyes whenever possible -- and Cas crawls in after him, between Dean’s open legs. Cas leans down and kisses Dean’s stomach, just below his belly button, and then trails kisses upwards, pausing at each nipple to lick and suck and bite, until Dean is moaning and breathless. 

Dean grabs Cas by the shoulders and hauls him up to kiss again, open-mouthed and needy, and that’s all he wants for long minutes, just the two of them, just their mouths, just Cas with one hand on Dean’s hip and the other braced next to his face, just Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas’s strong shoulders. 

“You’re so good,” Cas whispers when they break away for air. “So, so good.” 

“Cas,” Dean whines, arching up for another kiss. 

Cas indulges him, more long minutes of just kissing, soft noises deep in their throats, Cas settling closer in between Dean’s legs until their hard-ons rub together tantalizingly through boxers already wet with pre-come. 

“You’re perfect,” Cas whispers. He bites softly at Dean’s ear, just like Dean likes it, and Dean whines for an entirely different reason. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Dean gasps. Dean is so wet and so hard and so wanting, he can barely contain himself. “Need you, Cas.” 

Cas sits up and slides Dean’s boxers off, humming appreciatively at the slick thighs he finds underneath. “My sweet omega,” he murmurs, leaning down to bite at the inside of Dean’s thigh. He sucks until the skin is mottled pink and then goes back to Dean’s mouth. While they kiss, Cas reaches down and strokes Dean’s cock lazily, just a tease. 

“Fuck me,” Dean says. His voice sounds a little like he’s begging, but he got over begging to Cas a long time ago, about the time they first kissed. Cas just makes him lose control of himself, of his words. _Love you_ he said earlier, and it felt right in his mouth. 

Cas kisses down Dean’s neck and across his shoulder. Dean tenses, hopeful, but Cas just scrapes his teeth over Dean’s collarbone, not committing to a bite. 

“Turn over,” Cas says. “On your stomach.” 

Dean tenses more for another reason, but ends up turning himself over. With his head turned to see Cas behind him, he watches Cas strip off his boxers and re-settle between Dean’s legs, hand wrapped around his own cock. “God, you’re beautiful,” Cas says, running a hand down Dean’s spine. He never acts like he notices the scars at all, just touches Dean the same as he did before it happened. 

Dean closes his eyes tight. Hearing the words and seeing the reverent look on Cas’s face at the same time is so much, it’s too much, but if he blocks out one, the other will sink into his skin and set his heart on fire. 

Cas runs his hand through Dean’s hair, mussing sweaty strands with his fingers, and then grabs Dean’s shoulder. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks. 

“God, yes,” Dean says. 

Cas rubs the head of his cock over Dean’s wet hole. Dean hears him murmur more praise, but it hardly matters when Cas’s cock is slowly pushing in, slowly filling him with a thick length unlike any he has ever had before. Dean moans, arches his back to take more of Cas, but Cas gently pushes his hips back down to the bed. “Stay,” he says, a request and not a command, and Dean does as he asks. 

Cas is only a couple of inches in but he slowly pulls out, all the way, and Dean can feel his eyes watching Dean’s hole as he does it. Cas keeps watching as he slowly pushes back in, slow like torture, and Dean opens his eyes to watch Cas watching them. Cas still has that reverent look on his face. 

Dean reaches back, scrabbling to grab hold of Cas’s hip, and Cas briefly puts his hand over Dean’s, squeezing, then his hand goes to Dean’s lower back and holds him down gently as the full length of his cock slides into Dean, until Dean feels Cas’s hips flush with the back of his thighs. 

Cas’s stomach muscles clench as he keeps up a slow, gentle pace, a tease more than anything. He leans down to mouth at Dean’s neck, bite but too softly to even leave a mark, much less break skin, and Dean moans, half in pleasure and half in desperate need for his alpha to make him his mate for real. 

Cas slowly slowly slowly pulls out, pauses with only the head breaching Dean, and then slams deep into him. Dean gets the idea it’s just to see what kind of noise Dean will make, and the gasping near-scream punched out of Dean’s lungs seems to please him. “Listen to you,” Cas says, his lips brushing against Dean’s ears. “Is that how much you want my cock?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “please, Cas.” 

Cas repeats the move, pulling out so slowly and then ramming home. Dean cries out again and grabs at Cas’s arm that is holding him up. Dean leans his head to kiss Cas’s wrist, then leaves his mouth against skin as Cas starts fucking him hard and impossibly fast, adjusting the angle until Dean is hardly able to breathe from the moans escaping him. 

Cas nuzzles against his ear again and murmurs, “You’re so loud for me. So perfect.” 

It’s so good, all the blood rushes from Dean’s head into his groin and tingling hands and leaves him dizzy, head swimming with arousal. 

“Can you come like this?” Cas asks, and Dean can finally hear him breathless, too. 

“God, yes,” Dean says, though it comes out stuttered from how hard Cas is fucking him. Dean has to put a hand up against the headboard to keep from being pushed into it and ending up with a concussion. 

“I’m going to knot you,” Cas says, “is that ok?” 

“Christ, Cas,” Dean says, “ _yes_.” 

Cas’s grin is feral. Dean can feel his knot swelling and catching, and it’s just as it ties them together that Dean comes, explosively and long, mouth slack against Cas’s wrist. Through his own endless pleasure, he feels Cas’s aborted thrust deep into him before he’s coming, too. 

Neither of them move for long moments, just panting, but Cas’s arm is shaking from holding him up so they carefully adjust to their sides, Cas wrapped around Dean from behind. Cas leans down and kisses the sweaty space between Dean’s shoulderblades, _mmm_ ing into his skin. 

Cas nuzzles the place behind Dean’s ear, scenting him with gentle whuffs, and Dean smiles without meaning to. To cover up the feelings that are kind of overwhelming him, he says, “God, you are good in bed.” 

“Is that so?” Cas says. He grabs Dean’s hip and grinds deep into him, making Dean’s cock twitch. 

Dean turns his head to steal a kiss, the angle making it awkward and sloppy and kind of perfect, and Cas gives him a smile so fond it hurts. 

Staring into Dean’s eyes, Cas says, “I love you,” and Dean lets himself believe it could be true.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’d live with you anywhere.”_
> 
> _“So if we were destitute…”_
> 
> _“I’ll join you under a bridge.”_

“I’m thinking about resigning,” Cas says. 

“Uh, what?” 

“I’m tired of working for a homophobic, omega-phobic corporation. And since Crowley, there’s very little respect for me there.” 

“I knew all that,” Dean says carefully, “but I guess I didn’t know you were that unhappy.” 

“Tran got me in touch with a non-profit that needs some help. It would be less money.” 

“But you’d be doing something good?” 

“Yes, I think so. It’s an omega-run organization that provides health services and a safe house for omegas.”

“Ok,” Dean says. 

“What do you think?” Cas asks. 

“Me? Don’t ask me, Cas. You know I’m an idiot about these things.” 

“No,” Cas says, “you’re not an idiot about anything, and this affects you, so I’m asking what you think. I’m thinking we could sell the house, too, get something a little more reasonable. I’ve always hated this place.” 

Dean arches an eyebrow. “Why’d you buy it then?” 

Cas sighs. “There was a time when I was trying very hard to impress my family. That’s how I ended up working at Sandover in the first place.” 

“I know how that is,” Dean says, looking away. “But yeah, I could pick up more hours at the garage -- one of the guys just put in his notice so there will be plenty of OT available at least until they replace him.” 

Cas smiles. “We’re not going to be destitute. Just… not the kind of unnecessary lifestyle I’ve been living.” 

“Not enough extra cash to pay a camboy to be your cuddle buddy?” 

Dean shouldn’t have said it, even though he was just teasing. Cas’s face closes and he looks away. “Right,” Cas says. 

Dean leans forward, giving Cas a quick kiss and then baring his neck a little so Cas will scent him. He’s sure Cas can smell the love there the same way he can smell it on Cas. It works: Cas gives a little sigh against him and mouths a kiss behind Dean’s ear. 

Dean says, “Do you think you’ll be happier?” 

“To be honest,” Cas says, “I’m not sure anything could be worse than Sandover right now. Since we took on those investors, things are just getting worse daily.” 

“Then you should do it. Fuck that place.” 

“And what do you think about the house?” 

“Fuck this place,” Dean says, grinning. “I’d live with you anywhere.” 

“So if we were destitute…” 

“I’ll join you under a bridge.” 

Cas laughs, open and suddenly joyful. “All right,” he says, “I’m quitting my job tomorrow.” 

“All right!” Dean says, grinning. 

“And calling a realtor.” 

“All right!” 

“And…” Cas’s face suddenly goes serious. “I’m thinking very deeply about whether or not I’m going to fuck this gorgeous omega in front of me.” 

“Is that hypothetical or do you mean right now? Because I’m into that.” 

Cas ruffles Dean’s hair and pulls him close for a closed-mouth kiss. “Later, sweetheart.” 

 

_Later_ doesn’t come soon enough, especially when Cas pauses in the middle of getting out of their clothes, leaning forward to breathe Dean’s scent in. “You’re going into heat,” he says quietly. 

It’s been a long time. Despite his closeness with his alpha, the suppressants Dean still takes daily have been working. “Really?” Dean says. “I haven’t felt anything…” 

“You turned the A/C down five degrees last night,” Cas says. “You really didn’t notice?” 

Dean tries to think back over the last few days, but he doesn’t remember wanting Cas more than he usually does, which is all the time. Maybe Ash has been a little funny around him, but Ash can be a little funny around anyone. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. 

Cas tilts his head. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“I know it’s a big hassle --” 

“Dean,” Cas says, silencing him. “I get to do two of my favorite things -- fuck you and take care of you. I love when you’re in heat.” 

Dean blushes hotly. “Take care of me then,” he whispers. 

Cas puts a hand on his neck, thumb stroking the line of his jaw, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Tell me what you want. Anything.” 

Dean is still blushing. “I want you to suck me,” he says, “and put your fingers in me.” 

Castiel hums and grins. “My greedy omega,” he says fondly. “Get in bed. On your back.” 

Dean strips out of the rest of his clothes and hurries into the bed, propped against the headboard so he can watch. Because there’s nothing better than watching his dick disappear into the velvet heat of Cas’s mouth. Except maybe everything else they do in bed, because Dean could never truly pick a favorite. 

Cas starts just stroking his cock, his mouth everywhere else, sucking bruises onto Dean’s chest and stomach, licking his nipples, biting at a hip bone. Dean tries to contain himself but it’s not long before he’s arching his hips to thrust into Cas’s touch. 

Finally, Cas guides Dean’s cock into his mouth, suckling at the exposed head before taking him in a bit at a time. Cas has had enough practice to take all of Dean now, all the way down his throat so his nose is nestled in the dark curly hairs at the base of Dean’s dick. Dean moans as Cas swallows around him. 

Dean reaches for one of Cas’s hands, gripping him tight, and Cas’s other hand rolls Dean’s balls in his palm, then slides lower to find where he is slick and ready for a mate. Cas slides two fingers into him easily and starts pumping them in and out along with sucking and swallowing around Dean’s cock. 

“Cas, Cas,” Dean moans, riding back down on Cas’s hand. “More, please.” 

Cas slides another finger alongside the other two, but even Cas knows the stretch isn’t quite enough, so before long there’s a fourth finger inside Dean, fucking a little rougher as Cas moves his mouth up and down Dean’s dick. Dean squeezes Cas’s hand so hard it must hurt, but Cas just squeezes back, and his fingers find the spot inside Dean that makes him cry out every time. Cas rubs at it incessantly, not even thrusting with his fingers anymore, and starts to focus his mouth on the head of Dean’s cock, running the tip of his tongue into the slit, sucking hard just around the part just under the head that makes Dean moaning and restless. 

“God, Cas, need you to fuck me, please, please,” Dean rambles, but Cas just shakes his head as much as he can with his mouth wrapped around Dean’s cock. Dean can’t even watch anymore; his eyes fall closed and he just writhes under Cas’s mouth and his hands. 

Cas knows the signs of Dean getting close by now, and he increases the pressure of his fingers, increases the pressure of his sucking, and it hardly takes anything before Dean is coming down Cas’s throat with a long, drawn-out moan. 

Dean opens his eyes quickly enough to watch Cas swallow, and Cas slides his fingers out of Dean, looking like it regrets him to do so, but then he holds his hand up to Dean’s mouth. Dean sucks Cas’s fingers between his lips eagerly, tasting himself while Cas watches with nearly-black eyes. 

“Now,” Cas says, kissing up Dean’s stomach to his chest to his neck, “now I’ll fuck you.” 

Dean moans again and foregoes a kiss to press his face eagerly into Cas’s neck, scenting him with harsh, panting breaths. The whole room smells of them, their arousal, their bond, but Dean wants more, can’t get close enough, can’t fill his lungs enough. When he pulls away, Cas is smiling, and he takes his turn nuzzling against Dean’s neck while he uses a hand to line his cock up with Dean’s hole. 

Sinking into him, Cas murmurs, “Fuck, you’re tight.” 

“You just had four fingers in me,” Dean says. 

“You were tight then, too.” Cas grins and kisses the knobs of Dean’s collarbones. 

As good as the sucking and the fingerfucking were, Cas’s cock in him is something else entirely. They kiss while Cas starts with shallow little thrusts, then just pant into each other’s mouths as Cas starts fucking him in earnest. Dean wraps his legs around Cas and grabs onto his ribs, shoving himself downward to meet every movement of Cas’s hips. 

Dean is quiet for once while Cas murmurs curses and blasphemy into Dean’s lips in between frantic kisses. Dean’s cock is impossibly hard again, dying to be touched, but Cas likes it when Dean comes just from his cock so Dean keeps his hands on the curve of Cas’s ribcage. “Cas,” he whines, needing. “Cas, please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Don’t stop,” Dean says, not caring if he sounds pathetic begging. 

Cas smiles his feral smile and increases the frequency of his thrusts. Dean is already riding close to coming again, strung out, moaning and whimpering and crying out at the especially hard thrusts Cas throws in every now and then. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” Cas says, panting, and Dean comes between them, throwing his head back. 

Dean didn’t think Cas could get any deeper, but as his knot catches, he manages it, and it only takes a few rolls of his hips for him to come, too. 

Cas’s hair is sweaty and falling in his eyes. Dean reaches up to stroke a hand through it, and Cas smiles at him, and Dean smiles back, and Dean kind of thinks he might like his heat now, too. 

Next to Dean on the bed, Cas can’t seem to stop rolling his hips into him, and Dean keeps making these little noises in the bottom of his throat with every half-thrust. They kiss lazily, too, tongues rubbing together and sharing breath. 

They are still tied together but Dean’s heartbeat has returned to normal when he says softly, “Cas?” 

“Yes?” Cas says, pressing his forehead against Dean’s. 

“You love me?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, firm so there’s no argument. 

“And I -- I love you, too.” 

Cas smiles so bright when Dean says it. Dean reminds himself to say it more often, just to get that special smile. 

Dean kisses Cas, gently. He’s ready to handle rejection graciously, but he has to ask. “Will you bite me?” 

Even though it’s not the first time Dean has asked, Cas still looks surprised. Instead of the immediate “no” Dean expected, Cas says, “Are you sure?” 

“Never been more sure of anything,” Dean says. 

Cas moves his mouth from Dean’s to Dean’s cheek, leaving a kiss there, and then trails over to Dean’s ear and huffs at his neck. Dean doesn’t know what he’s smelling there, because all Dean can smell is the overpowering scent of words like _my alpha_ and _my omega_. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, “will you be my mate?” 

“Please,” Dean says, his heart speeding up again. 

“Where?” 

Dean touches the already-there scar on his neck. “Here,” he says. He touches a spot on the top of his shoulder. “And here.” 

Cas’s mouth goes to the scar on his neck, kiss-licking at it. “You want me to cover it up?” 

“I want to be yours,” Dean says. 

Cas grinds into him again, a reminder that they are already bonded in more ways than one. 

“Please,” Dean says. He tilts his head so Cas has better access to his neck. 

Cas takes his time kissing and licking and sucking on the skin where the scar is. “You’re so perfect,” Cas whispers, rakes his teeth over the spot, and then he bites. 

Cas’s canine teeth are designed for this and break the skin easily. Dean gasps at the sharp pain of it, but it’s only for a quick moment before the harshest, most intense pleasure he’s ever felt overtakes it. He can suddenly scent so much more of Cas, his trepidation, his joy, the way all he can think is _mate-mate-mate_ , and Dean knows Cas can sense him the same way, and the pleasure is a feedback loop between them while Cas carefully licks away drops of blood welling to the surface. 

“And here?” Cas asks, touching the spot with his fingertips. 

Dean nods, unable to make words, but he thinks about wanting a bite that is just theirs, not something to mask his scars, and Cas knows. 

The second bite doesn’t hurt at all, but Dean still gasps at the intensity of it. Cas hums against the skin, licks away the blood, gently kisses each of the bite marks in turn, then kisses Dean. Dean tastes the tiniest bit of copper but mostly Cas. 

“Can you feel that?” Cas asks, sounding awed. _Feeling_ awed. Dean can tell, now, what Cas is feeling. Is this what it means to be in-touch with another person? To know all of them? 

“I love you,” Dean says, even though he doesn’t have to. 

Cas is staring at him, eyes wide. For a quick moment, Dean wonders if he regrets it, but realizes he would feel that regret if it was there. All he can smell on Cas is _love-love-love_ and _mate-mate-mate_. 

And what Cas can scent on Dean is that Dean has never felt less alone.

**Author's Note:**

>  _well its plain to see you're a dangerous thing_  
>  _with those hips and those lips and those eyes_  
>  _lucky for me that I like being free_  
>  _or I might try and make you mine_  
>  _I might give in to kiss you_  
>  _but don't plan on me stayin' long_  
>  (from lucero's ["dangerous thing"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uI4FmvIOoDc))
> 
> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


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